lUIUUlUlUUHlllUUtlUIlIU 


BY  AMY  MCLAREN 


Bawbee  Jock 
The  Yoke  of  Silence 


The  Yoke  of  Silence 


By 

Amy  McLaren 

Author  of  "  Bawbee  Jock,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam 's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 
fmfcfeerbocfter  press 
1912 


COPYRIGHT.  1911 

BY 

AMY  MCLAREN 


TTbc  Knickerbocker  prcM,  1Uw  Borl 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I. — A  STARTLING  INCIDENT 
II. — SUSPENSE 
III. — NANNY'S  CONFESSION 
IV. — THE  EXPLANATION  OF — WHY!    . 
V. — THE  MYSTERY  FORESHADOWED  . 
VI. — THE  PATERNAL  INSTINCT  . 
VII. — THE  PICNIC  AT  COWRIE  BAY 
VIII.—"  Is  THAT  CHILD  MINE  ?  " 
IX. — NANNY  FACES  HER  HUSBAND 
X. — WHAT  JIM  SAID  TO  HIS  WIFE     . 
XI. — NANNY  CONFRONTS  HER  ENEMY 
XII. — THE  HAREBELL  WREATH   . 
XIII. — JIM'S  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM 
XIV. — IN  THE  DEATH  TOWER 
XV. — LADY  BREWSTER  "  MOTHERS  "  JIM 


2227S45 


iv  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI. — A  RIBBON  ROUND  A  LOCK  OF  HAIR  194 

XVII. — JIM'S  DEPARTURE    .  204 

XVIII.— "You     ARE     NOT     SPEAKING     THE 

TRUTH  " 213 

XIX. — A  COMPROMISING  PARASOL      .         .  225 

XX. — THE  TRAPPING  OF  THE  SYREN          .  241 

XXI. — DENOUNCED 246 

XXII. — NANNY  WATCHES  THE  YACHT  STEAM 

UP  THE  FIRTH  ....  260 

XXIII. — WHAT  MADE  JIM  Miss  HIS  TRAIN  .  269 

XXIV. — Two  RUNAWAYS  ON  AN  EXCURSION 

STEAMER 278 

XXV. — "  I  WANT  YOU  TO  FORGIVE   YOUR- 
SELF"          291 

XXVI. — GOOD-BYE  TO  PITTIVIE    .         .         .  308 


The  Yoke  of  Silence 


CHAPTER  I 

A  STARTLING  INCIDENT 

T^HE  harvest  field  was  deserted ;  the  slanting 
rays  of  the  sun  were  streaming  along  the 
lines  of  newly-cut  grain,  turning  the  heavy 
heads  of  barley  to  bright  gold. 

A  group  of  workers  had  just  passed  out 
through  the  gate  leading  on  to  the  high-road, 
in  the  wake  of  the  jingling  reaping-machine. 
The  women  walked  wearily,  with  their  sun- 
bonnets  thrown  back  from  their  brown  faces; 
the  men  in  straggling  groups. 

Sir  Andrew  Brewster,  the  laird  of  Pittivie,* 
leaned  his  arm  on  the  top  rail  of  the  gate,  and 
gave  a  kindly  nod  or  word  to  each  worker  as 
they  passed  out. 

He  surveyed  his  crops  thoughtfully.  Not 
yet  the  end  of  August,  and  the  harvest  well 
begun. 

*This  old  Scotch  name  is  pronounced  Pit-i'vy. 
3 


4  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

His  eye  wandered  to  where  the  yellow 
fields  of  uncut  corn  swept  like  a  golden  fringe 
along  the  blue  waters  of  the  Firth  of  Forth. 
The  flat  stretches  of  country  were  almost 
treeless:  the  only  outstanding  feature  which 
caught  the  eye  was  the  old  castle  of  Pittivie, 
perched  on  its  rocky  promontory,  round  which 
the  waves  beat  unceasingly.  Its  eastern  ga- 
bles were  a  mass  of  ruins ;  but  to  the  west, 
windows  still  flashed  back  the  rays  of  the 
evening  sun. 

At  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  the  sight  of  a 
figure  toiling  up  the  steep  path  leading  from 
the  few  fishermen's  cottages  dotted  along  the 
rocky  beach,  Sir  Andrew  left  his  position  by 
the  gate,  and  stepped  out  into  the  road. 

"Good-evening,  Sandy.  Been  a  grand  day 
for  the  harvest,"  he  said,  to  a  sturdy  little 
man  in  a  sou'wester  and  long  sea  boots,  who 
carried  a  creel  over  his  shoulder. 

"Graund,"  was  the  answer. 

It  was  one  of  Sandy  MacNab's  duties  to 
supply  the  castle  with  fish.  It  gave  him  an 
opportunity  of  conversing  daily  with  Margaret 


A  Startling  Incident  5 

Robertson,  the  housekeeper,  whom  he  had 
courted  for  many  years  with  indifferent  success. 

Sandy  had  short  legs  and  a  long  body.  His 
face  was  fresh  and  ruddy,  and  his  blue  eyes 
were  very  clear  and  trusting  in  their  expression 
of  ingenuous  honesty. 

He  trudged  along  by  Sir  Andrew's  side  until 
they  came  abreast  of  the  high  wall  which 
bounded  the  castle  policies.  Beyond  the  iron 
bars  of  a  gate  let  into  a  stone  archway,  could 
be  seen  a  road  leading  across  a  level  stretch 
of  sea  turf  to  where  another  wall,  ruined  in 
places,  sheltered  the  garden  and  immediate 
surroundings  of  the  castle. 

Sir  Andrew  had  opened  the  gate,  and  was 
about  to  pass  through,  but  Sandy  halted,  and 
put  up  his  hand  to  the  back  of  his  ear. 

"A  queer  like  soond,  thon?  It  11  be  the 
syren,  I  'm  thinkin'?"  and  his  eyes  searched 
the  line  of  horizon  for  any  sign  of  rising  fog. 

Sir  Andrew  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets 
of  his  old  shooting-coat,  and,  with  bent  head, 
listened,  frowning. 

"A  motor  horn,"  he  said  laconically. 


6  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

He  disliked  motors,  and  would  have  for- 
bidden them  the  right  to  invade  his  kingdom 
if  he  could.  The  road  to  Pittivie  led  to  no- 
where except  the  castle  and  the  village,  and  he 
did  not  wish  the  bustle  and  noise  of  the  out- 
side world  to  be  brought  to  his  very  doors. 

"A  motor?"  echoed  Sandy.  "Ane  o'  they 
rantin  tantin  deevils?  What 's  it  speirin' 
aifter  in  they  pairts?  " 

He  craned  his  neck  to  see  if  anything  was 
visible,  but  although  the  sound  of  the  approach- 
ing motor  was  every  moment  becoming  more 
distinct,  nothing  could  be  seen  from  where  they 
stood,  owing  to  the  peculiar  nature  of  the 
ground.  Flat  as  was  the  surrounding  country, 
it  was  broken  here  and  there  by  deep  and  sud- 
den indentations,  and  marked  by  isolated 
masses  of  rock  which  thrust  their  beetling 
brows  through  the  surface. 

Both  men  found  themselves  straining  for- 
ward to  catch  sight  of  the  car  as  it  breasted 
the  first  of  the  steep  ascents  to  the  left. 

It  came  thundering  on,  and  shot  suddenly 
into  view.  For  a  second  it  seemed  to  hang 


A  Startling  Incident  7 

in  the  mid-air  above  them,  its  dark  outline, 
and  the  figure  of  its  sole  occupant  silhouetted 
against  the  clearness  of  the  sky. 

"Is  he  mad?  Why  does  n't  he  slow  down?" 
exclaimed  Sir  Andrew. 

He  strode  out  from  the  gateway,  and  holding 
up  his  hand,  shouted. 

Whether  the  driver  could  not  get  his  brakes 
to  act,  or  whether  he  was  possessed  with  a 
demon  of  recklessness  was  beside  the  question 
for  the  moment.  With  a  rush  and  a  roar,  and 
barely  distinguishable  in  the  swirl  of  dust 
which  it  raised,  the  car  tore  on. 

Sir  Andrew  caught  in  his  breath  quickly. 
The  dangerous  part  was  yet  to  come.  Farther 
on,  the  road  turned  sharply  to  the  right. 
The  overhanging  bank  made  space  impossi- 
ble, and  the  car  was  a  long  one.  At  the 
speed  at  which  it  was  going  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  round  the  corner  without  smashing 
into  something. 

"He  '11  need  the  deil's  luck  tae  get  roond 
thon  corner,"  exclaimed  Sandy. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth 


8  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

when  there  was  the  sound  of  shouting,  mingled 
with  the  hoot  of  the  horn,  and  a  group  of 
fishermen  trundling  a  hand-cart,  on  which  was 
a  tar  barrel  and  a  pile  of  nets,  came  into  sight. 

The  motor  was  seen  to  swerve  to  the  side 
and  give  a  plunge  forwards.  There  was  a 
grinding  crash  as  it  came  into  collision  with 
the  rock.  A  cloud  of  flying  splinters  and  fall- 
ing debris  from  the  bank  above — the  whirl 
and  clash  of  machinery — the  sharp  report  of 
an  explosion;  and  then  silence. 

When  Sir  Andrew  reached  the  overturned 
wreck  of  the  car,  he  found  the  body  of  a  man 
lying  in  a  huddled  heap  in  the  dust  of  the 
roadway. 

He  knelt  down  and  ran  his  fingers  over 
the  prostrate  form,  which  showed  no  signs  of 
consciousness. 

He  gently  removed  the  man's  cap  and 
motoring  mask,  and  laid  his  ear  against  his 
mouth. 

"I  'm  thinkin'  he  's  deid,"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

Sir  Andrew  bent  more  closely  over  the  un- 


A  Startling  Incident  9 

conscious  figure.  The  man  evidently  be- 
longed to  his  own  rank  in  life,  and  his  age 
might  be  guessed  at  anywhere  between  thirty 
and  thirty-five.  A  small  trickle  of  blood  was 
oozing  from  underneath  the  dark  hair  above 
his  forehead.  His  right  arm  was  flung  out 
across  the  road,  and  the  hand  was  doubled 
back  in  an  ugly  position. 

"Not  so  bad  as  that.  We  must  take  him 
up  to  the  house,"  he  said.  "It  does  n't  look 
as  if  he  were  going  to  come  round  here.  I 
am  afraid  he  's  badly  hurt." 

He  turned  to  the  group  of  fishermen  who 
were  standing  near,  looking  stolidly  on. 

"Here,  you  fellows.  Turn  your  things  off 
that  hand-cart,  and  bring  it  alongside." 

The  men  obeyed,  and  lifted  the  heavy  bar- 
rel, half  filled  with  the  tar  which  they  used 
for  barking  their  nets,  on  to  the  side  of  the 
road.  They  were  going  to  pile  the  nets 
beside  it,  when  Sir  Andrew  stopped  them. 

"Leave  them  on  the  cart,"  he  said.  "And 
spread  them  out.  They  '11  make  an  easier 
bed  for  him  to  lie  on. " 


io  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

He  put  his  hand  on  Sandy's  shoulder,  and 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  castle. 

"Run  on  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  tell 
Margaret  what  has  happened,  and  that  we  're 
bringing  the  man  up  to  the  house.  Be  sure 
and  don't  frighten  the  ladies.  Do  you  under- 
stand? It  is  Margaret  that  you  are  to  find. 
She  '11  know  what  to  do. " 

"Ay,  I  unnerstan',"  answered  Sandy,  but 
his  brain  was  in  a  whirl  as  he  hurried  over  the 
ground  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  would  carry 
him. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  say  "find  Margaret," 
but  Margaret's  duties  were  multitudinous. 
No  saying  how  she  might  be  occupied  at  that 
time  in  the  evening.  He  stood  in  great  awe  of 
Margaret. 

He  opened  the  door  which  led  through  the 
wall  into  the  garden,  and  shut  it  again  cau- 
tiously. A  high  hedge  of  fuchsias,  glowing 
crimson  in  the  sunlight,  rose  in  front  of  him, 
and  acted  as  a  screen.  He  was  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  flagged  terrace  on  to  which  the 
doors  and  windows  of  the  lower  part  of  the 


A  Startling  Incident  n 

castle  opened,  and  hearing  voices,  he  parted 
the  drooping  masses  of  flowers  and  tried  to  see 
what  was  going  on  in  the  garden  beyond. 

The  terrace  ran  round  the  base  of  the  castle, 
and  in  the  centre,  a  wide  stone  porch,  round 
which  was  trained  a  wealth  of  roses  and  honey- 
suckles, projected  over  the  double  doors  which 
led  into  the  hall  beyond. 

Sandy's  heart  sank  at  what  he  saw  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fuchsia  hedge. 

That  was  her  ladyship,  in  the  big  basket 
chair  with  the  red  cushions.  Her  embroidery 
frame  was  pushed  aside,  and  she  was  leaning 
forward,  laughing  and  talking  with  her  usual 
vivacity  to  a  girl  seated  on  a  low  stool  before 
a  spinning-wheel.  Beside  the  spinning-wheel 
stood  Margaret:  a  tall  figure  in  her  full 
gathered  stuff  gown  and  black  silk  apron. 

It  could  truly  be  said  that  round  Margaret 
Robertson  the  domestic  life  of  Pittivie  re- 
volved. She  was  a  perfect  type  of  the  old- 
fashioned  Scotch  servant  which  was  fast 
dying  out.  Sixty -five  summers  had  passed 
over  her  head  and  fifty  years  of  that  time 


ia  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

had  been  spent  in  the  service  of  the  Brewster 
family,  for  she  had  come  to  them  as  a  young 
girl  in  the  time  of  Sir  Andrew's  father.  No 
one  ever  questioned  Margaret's  wise  rule. 
She  was  treated  more  as  a  trusted  friend  than 
as  a  dependant,  and  though  a  woman  of  great 
personal  dignity  and  manner,  she  had  never 
lost  her  homely  simplicity  of  speech  and  accent. 
Nor  would  Sir  Andrew  have  wished  her  to  do 
so.  He  was  proud  of  her  Scotch  tongue; 
and  Margaret's  sayings  were  quoted  and 
stored  up  as  household  treasures  by  the 
family. 

The  girl  at  the  spinning-wheel  was  frowning 
over  a  strand  of  tangled  yarn.  She  was  very 
pretty;  so  pretty  that  the  petulant  curve  of 
her  short  upper  lip  and  the  frown  on  her  brow 
rather  added  to  her  charm  than  detracted 
from  it. 

The  exact  image  of  herself  looked  up  at  her 
from  the  rug  at  her  feet,  where  a  baby  lay  on 
its  back  and  kicked  its  little  feet  in  the  air  and 
gurgled  over  a  woollen  ball  which  it  clasped  in 
its  arms. 


A  Startling  Incident  13 

The  girl  and  the  baby  were  almost  as 
familiar  sights  to  Sandy  as  Lady  Brewster 
herself.  Young  Mrs.  Adair  was  Sir  Andrew's 
cousin.  She  had  been  living  at  the  castle  for 
the  last  six  months,  or  more.  Why  she  con- 
tinued to  live  there,  where  her  husband  was, 
and  why  he  never  came  to  claim  his  wife  and 
child,  were  subjects  for  gossip  in  the  village. 

"Nanny,  Nanny!  what  a  perverse  little 
monkey  you  are, "  Lady  Brewster  was  saying. 
"Why  don't  you  let  Margaret  help  you? 
There!  The  thread's  broken  again!" 

Nanny  kept  her  foot  pressed  on  the  treadle, 
and  the  whirr  of  the  spinning-wheel  mingled 
with  the  raised  tones  of  her  voice. 

"  No,  no, "  she  protested.  "  Don't  you  dare 
to  touch  it,  Margaret.  Go  away — go  away!" 
She  shook  her  head  vehemently. 

"Go  away  and  do  something  else.  It  al- 
ways breaks  when  you  come  and  watch.  Look 
at  baby's  ball.  It  's  rolling  down  the  path. 
She  '11  cry  if  you  don't  get  it  for  her. " 

Margaret  bent  over  the  child,  murmuring 
to  it  some  homely  words  of  endearment. 


14  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  baby  had  intended  to  cry,  but  it  smiled 
instead. 

"I  '11  fetch  yir  ba',  ma  bonny  bairn,"  she 

said. 

She  stepped  out  from  the  porch  and  followed 
the  ball,  which  was  trickling  down  the  slight 
incline  towards  the  fuchsia  hedge  behind  which 
Sandy  was  hidden. 

Margaret  walked  with  a  certain  stateliness 
of  carriage,  and  all  her  movements  were  de- 
liberate. The  ball  had  reached  the  fringe  of 
crimson  flowers  which  swept  the  ground  at  the 
edge  of  the  pathway,  and  she  was  about  to 
stoop  to  pick  it  up,  when  a  hand  was  thrust 
suddenly  out  and  it  disappeared  from  view. 

"  Maircy  me, "  she  exclaimed,  and  drew  her- 
self up  indignantly.  "Wha  's  hidin'  a'hint 
they  busses.  Comeoot!" 

There  was  no  answer.  Only  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  boot  being  scraped  along  the  gravel. 

With  a  swift  step  Margaret  skirted  the 
fuchsia  hedge  and  came  face  to  face  with  the 
culprit.  He  was  caught  red-handed  with  the 
ball  in  his  grasp.  He  wore  an  expression  of 


A  Startling  Incident  15 

mingled  fright  and  eager  excitement,  and 
looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  run  away. 

"Sandy  MacNab!"  exclaimed  Margaret  in 
astonishment.  "Whativer  are  ye  daen'  here, 
stealin'  ba's  in  a  leddy's  gairden  like  ony 

"Wheesht,  Marget,  wheesht,"  pleaded 
Sandy,  and  he  blurted  out  his  message.  Com- 
ing direct  from  Sir  Andrew,  it  gained  a  hearing 
which  his  own  affairs  certainly  would  not  have 
done. 

Margaret's  ready  brain  had  grasped  the 
situation  long  before  Sandy's  halting  tongue 
had  expressed  it  in  words. 

When  he  was  about  to  follow  her  down  the 
path  which  led  to  the  back  door  she  stopped, 
and  waved  him  aside. 

"Ye  're  no  wanted  here,  Sandy  MacNab," 
she  said  firmly.  "Awa'  back  tae  Sir  Andry. 
Maybe  ye  '11  hae  tae  rin  for  the  doctor. "  And 
Sandy,  who  had  a  vague  notion  sometimes 
that  he  was  always  running  to  do  other 
people's  bidding,  obeyed  her. 

It  did  not  take  Margaret  long  to  make  her 
preparations.  It  was  a  time-honoured  custom 


j6  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

at  Pittivie  that  a  guest  chamber  should  always 
be  ready  for  any  stray  visitor.  In  that 
sparsely  populated  neighbourhood  it  was  not 
often  required,  for  Sir  Andrew  and  his  wife  did 
not  pay  much  attention  to  the  claims  of  society. 

Margaret  called  up  the  servants,  and  di- 
rected them  what  to  do.  Then  she  made  her 
way  towards  the  hall,  which  ran  the  entire 
length  of  the  inhabited  portion  of  the  castle, 
and  from  it  opened  the  folding  doors  into  the 
porch  where  Lady  Brewster  and  Mrs.  Adair 
were  still  sitting. 

Like  most  old  Scotch  houses  of  its  kind,  the 
rooms  at  Pittivie  opened  one  out  of  the  other. 
The  hall  was  used  as  a  sitting-room,  but  it  was 
also  the  thoroughfare  through  which  every  one 
must  pass  who  wished  to  gain  access  to  any 
other  part  of  the  house.  A  curious  corkscrew 
stair  at  one  end  wound  upwards  to  the  floors 
above.  It  had  an  erratic  way  of  appearing  and 
disappearing  through  slits  in  the  massive 
thickness  of  the  walls,  which  enabled  any  one 
from  the  second  or  third  floor  to  look  down  into 
the  hall  below. 


A  Startling  Incident  17 

Margaret  knew  that  it  was  time  to  warn 
Lady  Brewster  of  what  had  happened.  Sir 
Andrew  might  be  expected  to  appear  at  any 
moment,  and  the  injured  man  would  have  to 
be  brought  through  the  garden,  and  into  the 
house  by  way  of  the  porch. 

The  manner  in  which  Margaret's  announce- 
ment was  received  was  characteristic  of  the 
position  she  occupied  in  the  family. 

Lady  Brewster  turned  to  her  with  a  look  of 
consternation. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  she  exclaimed,  her 
vivacity  giving  place  to  an  expression  of  child- 
like helplessness.  "Oh,  Margaret,  I  can't 
bear  accidents,  or  seeing  dreadful  things. 
Please  put  me  where  I  can't  see  anything." 

"Nae  fear,  ma  leddy,"  said  Margaret  sooth- 
ingly. "Ye  '11  jist  step  ben  tae  yir  ain  room. 
Ye  're  safe  there. " 

She  gathered  up  the  silks  and  embroidery 
which  had  fallen  from  Lady  Brewster's  lap, 
and  followed  her  into  the  house. 

A  minute  or  two  later  she  came  back  to  find 
Mrs.  Adair  making  havoc  of  the  furniture, 


1 8  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  had  pushed  back  the  chairs  and  spinning- 
wheel,  and  had  swept  aside  all  obstacles  which 
might  be  likely  to  get  in  the  way. 

"How  dreadful,  Margaret,"  she  exclaimed. 

She  stooped  and  lifted  the  child  in  her  arms. 

"  Do  you  think  the  man  is  very  badly  hurt?  " 

Margaret  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking 
out  across  the  garden. 

"  I  'm  thinkin'  that 's  Sir  Andry  at  the  gate," 
she  said.  "  He  '11  want  tae  ken  if  it 's  a'  richt." 

"I  '11  tell  him,"  said  Nanny,  impulsively. 

She  gave  the  baby  to  Margaret,  and  ran 
quickly  down  the  pathway  and  tried  the  door, 
which  had  been  opened  by  some  one  from 
without  and  then  shut  again.  It  resisted  at 
first,  then  gave  way,  and  Sir  Andrew's  face 
looked  anxiously  round  the  corner. 

His  expression  changed  at  sight  of  her. 

"You,  Nanny?"  he  said.  "That 's  all  right. 
Have  you  got  Lulu  out  of  the  way?" 

"She  's  safe  in  her  own  room,"  answered 
Nanny. 

Her  eyes  went  past  him  to  the  group  of  men 
gathered  round  the  hand-cart.  She  could 


A  Startling  Incident  19 

only  partly  see  the  figure  lying  on  it.  Some 
one  had  thrown  a  coat  over  the  injured  man's 
shoulders,  and  his  head  was  turned  away  from 
her. 

"Is  he  still  unconscious?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice.  "He  is  so  horribly  still." 

"He  seems  pretty  bad,"  said  Sir  Andrew, 
"but  he  showed  signs  of  coming  round  as  we 
lifted  him  up.  He  's  gone  off  again,  I  think." 

"How  are  you  going  to  get  through  the 
door?  It's  too  narrow  for  the  cart,"  said 
Nanny. 

Sir  Andrew  glanced  at  the  fishermen. 

"They  might  sling  their  nets  together  and 
make  a  kind  of  hammock.  It  would  shake 
him  less  if  they  carried  him  that  way." 

He  beckoned  to  one  of  the  men  and  ex- 
plained to  him  what  he  wanted  him  to  do. 

The  strongest  of  the  nets  was  folded  into  a 
square.  It  was  slipped  carefully  under  the 
man's  head  and  shoulders  until  his  whole 
body  rested  upon  it,  and  then  the  men  lifted 
the  knotted  ends  and  slung  them  across  their 
shoulders. 


2O  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Nanny  stood  beside  the  door  holding  it  open 
at  its  widest,  and  watched  them  slowly  raise 
their  burden.  They  moved  awkwardly.  She 
set  her  teeth  and  a  little  shiver  ran  through  her 
at  each  laboured  movement. 

' '  Oh,  oh ! "  she  exclaimed  sharply,  as  one  of  the 
bearers  caught  his  boot  on  the  stone  step  and 
stumbled.  ' '  Do  take  care !  A  little  sideways. 
You  can't  all  squeeze  through  together." 

She  was  so  engrossed  in  watching  the  men 
that  she  had  barely  glanced  at  the  burden 
they  carried  until  they  halted  for  a  moment 
immediately  opposite  her. 

"You  've  got  his  feet  too  high,"  said  Sir 
Andrew.  "Lower  a  little  in  front." 

He  went  down  and  drew  back  the  coat  which 
had  fallen  over  the  man's  face. 

The  face  was  turned  towards  Nanny.  It 
was  ghastly  pale  and  smeared  with  blood  on 
the  cheek  and  forehead. 

She  gave  a  sharp  cry,  and  then  put  her  hand 
quickly  over  her  mouth.  The  procession 
moved  on  with  shuffling  feet  up  the  pathway, 
and  she  stood  staring  after  it  with  terrified 


A  Startling  Incident  21 

eyes.  A  sickening  sensation  of  faintness 
began  to  creep  over  her.  The  flowers  and  the 
sunshine  and  the  streaks  of  blue  sea  became  a 
blurred  jumble  of  crimson  and  blue  and  yel- 
low. She  knew  if  she  tried  to  take  a  step 
forward  her  limbs  would  give  way  under  her. 
Then,  through  the  mist  of  half -consciousness, 
she  saw  Margaret  coming  towards  her  with 
the  child  in  her  arms. 

"I'm  wanted,"  said  Margaret.  "An'  I 
canna  leave  the  bairn " 

She  stopped  at  the  sight  of  Nanny's  face. 

"Dear,  dear!"  she  exclaimed.  "Ye  're  fan- 
upset,  an'  nae  wunner. " 

A  garden  seat  stood  near.  Margaret  put 
her  strong  arm  round  Nanny's  waist  and  led 
her  to  it. 

"Sit  doon,"  she  said  firmly. 

Nanny  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  she  looked  up  and  gave  herself  a  shake. 

"Give  me  baby, "  she  said.  "I  'm  all  right 
now.  Go  back!  Hurry,  Margaret!  They 
won't  know  what  to  do  without  you. " 

Margaret  hesitated. 


22  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Go,  go!"  cried  Nanny.  "I  know  why 
you  're  waiting.  You  think  I  '11  let  the  baby 
fall,  or  do  something  dreadful.  I  won't !  I  'm 
not  a  bit  faint.  Go!" 

And  reluctantly  Margaret  went. 

Nanny  buried  her  face  against  the  child's 
soft  down  of  curls,  and  drew  a  long  quivering 
breath.  Then  she  fell  to  kissing  its  little  face, 
its  soft  white  neck  and  clinging  arms  passion- 
ately, almost  fiercely.  She  pressed  it  closer 
and  closer  against  her  bosom. 

"Baby,  baby!  What  are  we  to  do?"  she 
sobbed  brokenly.  "  He  's  going  to  die,  baby — 
He  's  going  to  die. " 

The  child  gave  a  plaintive  cry.  The 
vehement  outburst  of  love  frightened  it. 

Nanny  held  it  from  her  and  devoured  each 
tiny  feature,  each  curve  and  line  of  the  baby 
face,  with  hungry  eyes. 

"You  're  all  me!  me!  me!"  she  whispered 
under  her  breath.  "If  only  you  weren't. 
There  is  n't  one  little  bit  of  you  that 's  like 
him.  What  am  I  to  do  if  he  dies — Oh,  baby, 
what  am  I  to  do?" 


CHAPTER  II 

SUSPENSE 

A  FTER  the  injured  man  had  been  carried 
•**•  to  the  room  prepared  for  him,- and  the 
heavy  tramp  of  the  men  who 'had  borne  him 
there  had  died  away,  an  ominous  silence  settled 
down  over  the  house. 

As  Margaret  had  predicted,  Sandy  had  been 
sent  for  the  doctor,  and  by  a  piece  of  good  luck 
had  fallen  in  with  him  not  far  from  the  castle 
gates. 

His  visit  lasted  a  long  time.  A  lifetime  it 
seemed  to  Nanny.  She  had  followed  him  as  he 
hurried  through  the  garden,  and  now  sat  in  the 
deserted  hall  with  the  drowsy  child  in  her 
arms  and  watched  the  door  through  which  he 
had  disappeared. 

It  was  horrible  to  have  to  sit  still  and-dd 
nothing. 

To  Nanny,  with  her  intense  vitality  and  the 

instinctive  impulse  to  throw  herself  into  the 

23 


24  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

midst  of  whatever  was  going  on  around  her, 
it  was  almost  unbearable.  If  only  she  could 
see  what  was  happening  behind  that  closed 
door!  If  only  she  could  hear  the  sound  of 
voices  it  would  not  be  so  bad!  It  was  the 
absolute  silence  which  frightened  her. 

The  old  hall  took  on  a  feeling  of  gloom,  and 
the  familiar  outlines  of  the  furniture  began  to 
grow  dim  in  the  falling  dusk.  Through  the 
open  windows  the  shrill  cries  of  the  sea-gulls 
sounded  harshly,  and  there  was  a  mournful 
note  in  the  beat  of  the  waves  washing  against 
the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  castle  cliff. 

At  last  the  door  opened  and  Sir  Andrew 
and  the  doctor  came  out.  Nanny  leaned 
back  behind  a  great  bowl  of  flowers  and 
waited  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  to  hear  what  they 
would  say. 

They  stood  some  distance  from  her  and 
spoke  in  lowered  voices,  so  that  only  a  word 
here  and  there  reached  her.  Her  impatience 
almost  mastered  her  discretion,  for  it  was 
never  Nanny's  way  to  sit  still  anb  wait  for  any- 
thing. She  was  on  the  point  of  jumping  up 


Suspense  25 

and  going  to  speak  to  them  when  they  moved 
across  the  hall  towards  the  door  leading  into  the 
garden .  She  heard  the  doctor  say  distinctly : 

"Would  you  like  me  to  send  notice  of  this 
to  the  police,  or  to  make  any  enquiries  for  you, 
Sir  Andrew?" 

Sir  Andrew  hesitated. 

"I  don't  know  who  the  man  is,  and  I  'm 
responsible , "  he  said .  ' '  What  do  you  think  ? ' ' 

The  doctor  had  a  brusque,  self-confident 
manner. 

"  We  can  wait  and  see  how  he  is  in  the  morn- 
ing, "  he  said,  and  then  followed  something 
which  Nanny  could  not  catch,  and  she  saw  Sir 
Andrew  go  with  him  out  of  the  house. 

She  sat  on,  rocking  the  child  gently  back- 
wards and  forwards.  She  bent  to  kiss  it,  not 
fiercely  this  time,  but  with  a  little  quiver  on  her 
lips. 

"We  can  wait  and  see  how  he  is  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

The  doctor's  words  came  back  to  her  and 
brought  some  kind  of  comfort. 

"  If  they  can  wait  until  the  morning,  it  can't 


26  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

be  so  very,  very  bad,  my  sweet,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

The  weight  of  the  child  began  to  grow  heavy 
in  her  arms,  and  it  was  long  past  the  time 
when  it  ought  to  be  in  bed.  She  rose,  and 
hushing  its  sleepy  cry,  carried  it  upstairs. 

Life  at  Pittivie  was  very  simple,  and  she  was 
accustomed  to  taking  care  of  the  baby  herself, 
but  Margaret  always  put  it  to  bed.  The  task 
of  washing  and  undressing  a  tired  child,  grown 
fretful  at  being  put  out  of  its  usual  routine, 
was  a  little  difficult. 

"She  's  cross  because  she  's  hungry,"  con- 
cluded Nanny,  looking  uneasily  at  the  pre- 
parations placed  ready  for  the  child's  supper. 
"But  I  don't  know  how  to  make  her  food. 
How  stupid  of  me  never  to  have  learned. " 

She  was  hesitating  as  to  what  she  ought 
to  do  when  the  door  opened  and  Margaret 
came  in. 

Margaret  looked  round  at  the  general  dis- 
order, at  the  small  garments  thrown  wildly 
here  and  there,  and  at  the  bath  water  splashed 
over  on  to  the  floor,  and  then  at  Nanny. 


Suspense  27 

"I  could  na  come  sooner,"  she  said  apolo- 
getically. 

The  colour  leaped  into  Nanny's  cheeks. 

"Margaret,"  she  said,  watching  her  face 
eagerly.  "How — how's  the  man?" 

"No  very  weel,"  said  Margaret.  "The 
doctor's  gied  him  somethin'  tae  keep  doon  the 
pain." 

"Pain ! "  repeated  Nanny,  and  gave  a  shiver. 
"How  can  you  talk  about  it  so  quietly.  Is 
the  pain  very  bad?  Who  's  taking  care  of 
him?  Why  have  you  left  him?" 

Margaret  was  accustomed  to  Nanny's  im- 
petuosity. She  answered  the  stream  of  ques- 
tions gently. 

"Ye  needna'  fear,  mem,  he  '11  no  dee.  And 
it 's  time  for  yir  dinner,  mem.  Leave  the 
bairn  wi'  me.  I  've  leisure  noo  to  see  tae  the 
dear  lamb's  supper." 

"I  don't  want  any  dinner,"  said  Nanny, 
impatiently. 

"Dear,  dear!"  exclaimed  Margaret  in  as- 
tonishment. "What  ails  ye?  Sir  Andry  's 
sittin'  wi  the  puir  man,  an'  her  leddyship  's  no 


28  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

comin'  oot  o'  her  room.  Deed,  mem,  ye  mun 
eatyir  dinner,"  she  concluded  firmly. 

Without  troubling  to  change  her  dress, 
Nanny  went  down  to  the  deserted  dining- 
room  and  made  a  pretence  of  eating.  She  felt 
restless  and  miserable.  An  overwhelming 
weight  lay  on  her  conscience,  and  the  two 
empty  chairs  which  stood  at  either  end  of  the 
table  seemed  to  be  imbued  with  life,  and  to 
watch  every  mouthful  she  tried  to  swallow, 
with  reproach.  How  often  she  had  sat  there, 
laughing  and  talking  to  Sir  Andrew  and  Lulu. 
How  kind  they  had  always  been  to  her  and  to 
her  child ;  how  trusting.  Giving  her  ungrudg- 
ingly the  shelter  of  their  home  and  their  love, 
and  never  questioning  or  doubting  her  right 
to  either. 

It  was  no  use.  She  could  not  eat.  She 
pushed  her  plate  aside  and  rose  and  left  the 
room.  Uncertainty  of  action  was  hateful  to 
her  and  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  what 
to  do. 

She  wandered  out  into  the  garden  and 
threaded  her  way  among  the  flower  beds  and 


Suspense  29 

the  hedges  of  old-fashioned  pink  and  white 
roses  to  where  a  low  wall  skirted  the  edge  of  the 
cliff.  The  wind  had  fallen,  and  not  a  breath  of 
air  stirred  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  twi- 
light, which  in  that  northern  land  would  but 
deepen  into  a  soft  dusk  as  the  night  crept  on, 
lay  over  land  and  sea,  broken  only  by  the  inter- 
mittent flash  from  the  great  lighthouse  on  the 
Mary  Isle,  which  lay  far  out  in  the  middle  of 
the  broad  Firth. 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  wall  anb 
watched  it.  It  was  like  a  great  heart  pulsing 
out  its  throb  of  warning  across  the  dark  waters. 
Almost  mechanically  she  began  to  count  each 
second  of  time.  The  peacefulness  of  the 
night  soothed  her.  Here,  under  the  stillness 
of  the  quiet  skies,  with  the  scent  of  the  sleep- 
ing flowers  around  her  and  the  great  expanse 
of  water  stretching  away  from  under  her  feet 
into  the  shadowy  dimness,  the  burden  which 
had  haunted  her  all  the  evening  seemed  to 
slip  away  from  her;  the  certainty  of  what  she 
ought  to  do,  stood  out  plainly  against  the  hori- 
zon of  her  mental  vision. 


30  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together,  as 
though  holding  on  to  the  strength  of  a  sud- 
den resolution. 

"I  will  count  twenty  flashes,"  she  mur- 
mured, fixing  her  eyes  steadily  on  the  distant 
light.  "And  then — then  I  will  go  in  and  tell 
them." 


CHAPTER  III 
NANNY'S  CONFESSION 

T  ADY  BREWSTER  had  retired  to  bed. 
She  always  did  so  when  anything  oc- 
curred to  upset  the  ordinary  routine  of  the 
household. 

A  shaded  lamp  threw  a  soft  glow  over  the 
embroidered  coverlet  of  her  bed.  Her  pretty 
figure  was  wrapped  in  a  becoming  negligee. 
She  had  finished  her  dinner,  and  she  leaned 
back  against  her  high  pillows  and  played  with 
the  heavy  rings  on  her  fingers. 

She  was  not  a  heartless  woman,  but  she 
was  incapable  of  facing  any  form  of  physical 
suffering.  Away  from  the  sight  and  hearing  of 
it,  her  natural  buoyancy  of  spirit  quickly-As- 
serted itself,  and  enabled  her  to  throw  off  un- 
pleasant memories  with  astonishing  rapidity. 

She  stopped  playing  with  her  rings  at  the 

sound  of  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door,  and  as 

31 


32  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Nanny  entered  her  dark  eyes  lighted  up,  and 
she  held  out  her  hands. 

"I've  been  longing  for  you,"  she  cried 
plaintively.  "I  thought  you  were  never 
coming." 

"I  'm  sorry,"  said  Nanny. 

Lady  Brewster  leaned  back  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  It 's  nice  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to, "  she 
said.  "And  I  'm  not  frightened  now.  An- 
drew came  in  a  few  minutes  ago  to  tell  me  I 
need  n't  be.  He  says  the  man  is  not  so  badly 
hurt  after  all.  He  's  quite  quiet.  They  think 
he  's  asleep." 

"Oh,  do  they?"  said  Nanny,  dubiously. 

She  knew  by  experience  that  Sir  Andrew 
would  .only  tell  his  wife  as  much  of  the  truth 
jas^he  thought  it  was  good  for  her  to  know. 

She  looked  round  the  comfortable  room. 
Although  it  was  summer  a  wood  fire  burnt  on 
the  hearth.  Little  tongues  of  flame  spurted 
out  from  the  dry  logs  and  lighted  up  the  dark 
corners  of  the  wainscotted  walls. 

"  You  look  nice  and  cheerful  in  here,"  she 


Nanny's  Confession  33 

said,  sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
"  Margaret  was  right  to  take  you  away." 

"I'm  such  a  coward,"  murmured  Lady 
Brewster. 

Nanny  was  very  fond  of  her  cousin's  wife, 
and  her  peculiarities  of  temperament  never 
roused  in  her  any  feeling  of  contempt.  Lulu 
was  always  sympathetic;  she  never  thought 
evil  of  any  one  or  criticised  their  actions. 

"  Nanny,  you  are  not  comfortable  there," 
said  Lulu.  "Do  pull  in  a  chair  and  look  as 
though  you  were  going  to  stay. " 

Nanny  paid  no  attention  to  the  suggestion 
and  continued  to  sit  where  she  was.  She  was 
watching  the  reflection  of  the  firelight  dancing 
on  the  fluted  sides  of  the  old-fashioned  brass 
grate  and  did  not  even  turn  her  head. 

"Lulu,"  she  said  abruptly.  "Do  you  re- 
member how  long  ago  it  is  since  I  came  here?  " 

Lady  Brewster  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
head;  she  gazed  upwards  abstractedly. 

"I  never  remember  dates,"  she  said. 

1 '  It  was  in  February, ' '  said  Nanny.  ' '  More 
than  six  months  ago. " 

3 


34  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Of  course  I  remember  about  you  coming, " 
exclaimed  Lulu,  dropping  her  arms  and  speak- 
ing with  animation.  "It  was  a  bitter  cold  night 
and  the  wind  was  driving  the  sleet  against  the 
windows  and  the  roar  of  the  sea  was  deafening. 
When  a  storm  comes  I  'm  always  terrified 
that  the  castle  will  tumble  down. " 

"Yes,"  said  Nanny,  "I  remember.  It  was 
a  terrible  night." 

"I  don't  mind  the  storms  when  Andrew  's 
at  home,  but  he  had  gone  to  fetch  you.  He 
was  away  for  days — nearly  a  whole  week." 

"Poor  Lulu,  and  it  was  my  fault,"  said 
Nanny.  "But  if  Andrew  had  n't  come  then, 
I  should  never  have  been  here." 

"I  know,"  said  Lady  Brewster.  "It  was  a 
good  thing  he  did  go.  I  never  saw  such  a  poor 
thing  as  you  were  that  night  when  you  arrived. 
And  the  baby ! "  She  threw  out  her  arms  with 
a  gesture  of  horror.  "I  was  afraid  to  touch 
her.  I  would  n't,  for  days.  She  hardly  seemed 
to  have  any  life  in  her  little  body." 

"She  was  so  young;  such  a  tiny  mite," 
murmured  Nanny. 


Nanny's  Confession  35 

She  smoothed  the  coverlet  absently  with 
her  hand  as  she  spoke.  She  turned  her  head 
still  more  aside,  so  that  Lady  Brewster  could 
see  only  the  outline  of  her  cheek  and  ear. 

"Lulu, "  she  continued  in  a  low  tone,  "when 
I  feel  things  most,  I  can't  express  them  in 
the  way  I  want  to ;  but  I  've  often  and  often 
tried  to  tell  you  and  Andrew  how  I  love  you 
for  being  what  you  were  to  me  then. " 

A  little  catch  came  in  her  throat.  .."I  shal1 
never  forget  it." 

Lady  Brewster  caught  her  hand  and  tried 
to  draw  her  towards  her,  but  Nanny  resisted. 

"No,"  she  said,  "you  must  let  me  speak 
just  this  once.  My  heart  has  often  ached 
trying  to  tell  you  what  I  felt." 

Lady  Brewster  sank  back  against  the  pillows. 

"Nanny,  what 's  the  matter  with  you  to- 
night? You  're  not  like  yourself.  You  're 
exaggerating  things  absurdly.  There  was  no 
goodness  in  what  we  did.  We  love  you!  We 
would  like  you  to  live  with  us  always." 

Nanny  twisted  the  gold  band  on  the  finger 
of  her  left  hand  round  and  round.  It  was  the 


36  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

only  ring  she  wore.  Her  dress  was  plain  al- 
most to  severity  and  showed  that  she  was  in 
mourning. 

Turning  her  head  for  the  first  time,  she 
looked  full  into  the  dark  eyes  which  were 
watching  her  questioningly. 

"Lulu,  why  have  you  never  asked  me 
about— Jim?  "  she  said  abruptly. 

For  a  second  Lady  Brewster's  glance  fell. 
She  flushed  a  little  and  then  met  Nanny's 
eyes  frankly. 

"Because  Andrew  said  I  was  not  to,"  she 
answered. 

"  And  Andrew?  Why  did  he  never  ask  me 
about  him?" 

"Andrew  said  if  there  was  anything  he 
ought  to  know,  you  would  tell  him  yourself. 
He  said  he  would  wait.  That 's  Andrew's 
way,  you  know.  He  always  trusts  people." 

"And  I  told  him  nothing,"  said  Nanny, 
bitterly.  "I  allowed  him  to  bring  me  here, 
and  give  me  the  shelter  of  his  home,  and  I 
never  gave  him  any  confidence  in  return. 
I  've  behaved  horribly  to  you  both.  No!  no! 


Nanny's  Confession  37 

Don't  interrupt  me.  Don't  try  to  make  the 
best  of  me.  I  want  to  put  things  before  you 
as  they  really  are.  When  I  came  here  that 
time  after  father  died,  I  ought  to  have  told 
you  about  Jim,  but  I  did  n't.  I  let  things 
slip  along  and  said  nothing,  and  allowed  you 
to  think  what  you  liked,  and  of  course  you 
thought  good  of  me.  You  always  do — both 
you  and  Andrew. " 

"Nanny,  Nanny!"  broke  in  Lady  Brewster. 
"Don't  talk  in  that  way.  It 's  all  nonsense. 
Why  should  we  ever  have  thought  anything 
but  good  of  you?  There  was  no  reason  to 
think  badly  of  you. " 

"No  reason ? "  repeated  Nanny.  " It 's  you 
who  are  talking  nonsense,  Lulu — you  know 
you  are.  You  're  only  doing  it  because  you 
can't  bear  to  hurt  me.  What  do  people  gener- 
ally think,  if  a  woman  leaves  her  husband  and 
goes  back  to  her  father's  house,  and  the  hus- 
band starts  off  to  the  end  of  the  world  with 
no  definite  idea  of  when  he  means  to  return ! 
Don't  you  think  they  would  imagine  there  was 
something  wrong?" 


38  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Your  father  was  ill,  and  there  was  no  one 
to  take  care  of  him.  I  don't  think  there  was 
anything  extraordinary  in  his  wanting  to  have 
you  with  him." 

"Father's  illness  had  nothing  to  do  with  it, " 
said  Nanny,  resolutely.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  was  n't  ill  then.  No — it  was  my  own  doing, 
going  back  to  him.  It  was  in  August  last 
year,  and  he  wasn't  ill,  not  to  be  anxious 
about,  until  that  time  in  February." 

"And  then  you  sent  for  Andrew?"  said  Lady 
Brewster. 

"Yes;  I  sent  for  Andrew.  But — he  came 
too  late.  Father  was  too  ill  to  recognise 
him." 

Neither  woman  spoke  for  some  minutes. 
Then  Lady  Brewster  said  hesitatingly: 

"Nanny,  I  have  wondered — a  tiny  little 
bit  sometimes,  why  he  did  n't  come  back  then. 
Your  husband,  I  mean.  He  must  have  known 
you  would  be  unhappy.  And  then — there 
was  the  baby." 

Nanny  got  up  abruptly  and  went  towards 
the  fireplace. 


Nanny's  Confession  39 

"You  never  saw  Jim,  Lulu,  did  you?"  she 
asked,  in  a  strained  voice  unlike  her  own. 

"No,  neither  Andrew  nor  I  have  ever  seen 
him,"  said  Lady  Brewster.  "Why,  Nanny, 
we  never  heard  of  your  marriage  until  it  was 
all  over." 

"He  rented  the  shooting  from  father," 
said  Nanny,  rather  irrelevantly.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  really  wanted  it,  but  it  gave  him  an- 
chorage for  the  yacht." 

A  splinter  of  wood  projected  from  one  of  the 
bars  of  the  grate.  She  touched  it  with  the  toe 
of  her  shoe  and  it  broke  off  and  fell  on  to  the 
hearth.  The  smell  of  the  burning  wood 
brought  back  to  her  with  a  twinge  of  pain 
the  memory  of  her  Highland  home;  it  re- 
minded her  of  the  scent  of  burning  peat. 

A  vision  came  between  her  and  the  flickering 
firelight.  She  saw  the  old  white-washed  house 
lying  in  the  hollow  of  the  narrow  glen,  the 
steep  pathway  with  its  many  twists  and  turns 
leading  down  to  the  sandy  beach;  and  in  the 
bay,  a  big  steam  yacht  lying  at  anchor  under 
the  lee  of  the  towering  cliffs. 


40  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Lady  Brewster's  voice  broke  in  on  her 
dream. 

"Do  take  the  tongs,  Nanny,  and  push  that 
piece  of  wood  under  the  grate. " 

Nanny  did  as  she  was  asked.  She  straight- 
ened herself  slowly  and  then  Walked  deliber- 
ately across  the  room  and  took  one  of  the 
pretty  fragile  hands  which  lay  on  the  coverlet 
and  held  it  tightly  in  hers. 

"Lulu,"  she  said,  "I've  been  trying  all 
these  months — ever  since  I  went  back  to 
father, — to  make  myself  think  that  what  I 
did  was  right.  But  I  don't  believe  it  was. " 

"  Would  it  comfort  you  to  tell  me  about  it?  " 
said  Lulu. 

"  I  must  tell  you, "  answered  Nanny.  "  It 's 
come  to  the  time  when  I  must. " 

She  went  on,  speaking  rapidly,  not  giving 
herself  the  chance  of  drawing  back. 

"I  had  a  dreadful  quarrel  with  Jim  and  I 
left  him.  I  went  back  to  father  when  I  was 
too  angry  to  know  whether  I  was  doing  right 
or  wrong.  Jim  was  very  angry  too — angrier 
perhaps  than  I  was,  but  he  showed  it  differ- 


Nanny's  Confession  41 

ently,  and  he  never  tried  to  prevent  my 
going.  That  drove  me  wild!  I  thought  I 
hated  him!  He  allowed  me  to  have  my  own 
way  at  first,  and  stay  with  father;  then  he  sug- 
gested that  we  should  meet  somewhere  and 
come  to  an  arrangement.  I  refused  to  see 
him,  and  I  wrote  him  a  horrid  letter.  I  said 
cruel,  ungenerous  things  in  it .  It  was  a  wicked 
letter,  because  I  did  n't  believe  the  things  I 
said  in  it  were  really  true.  He  took  no  notice 
of  it,  except  to  send  me  a  stiff  little  note  to 
say  that  he  was  going  abroad,  that  his  bank- 
ers would  have  his  address,  and  that  I  might 
draw  on  them  for  any  money  I  wanted.  Very 
soon  after  that  I  saw  in  the  papers  a  notice 
about  the  yacht — the  Katinata.  It  had  sailed 
from  Cowes,  so  I  knew  he  had  gone. " 

"Poor  Nanny,"  murmured  Lady  Brewster. 
"I  'm  so  sorry.  I  think  he  's  been  rather  hard. 
Why  has  he  stayed  away  so  long?  He  might 
have  come  back  after  the  baby  was  born.  He 
ought  to  have  come  back  then." 

"I  never  told  him  anything  about  it," 
faltered  Nanny. 


42  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Never  told  him!"  echoed  Lady  Brewster, 
sitting  suddenly  upright,  her  dark  eyes  opened 
wide  with  astonishment.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  he  doesn't  know  about  the 
child?" 

Nanny's  head  drooped. 

"  When  I  went  away  first  I  was  so  angry  and 
—I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  When  I 
knew,  I  was  frightened.  I  dare  n't  tell  him. 
Oh,  it  was  all  wretched  and  miserable,  and  I 
was  so  unhappy.  I  fretted  myself  ill,  and 
then  baby  was  born,  and  then — I  was  more 
frightened  because  he  had  never  written, 
and  I  thought  he  would  never  forgive 
me,  and  I  did  not  know  where  he  was — 
and " 

Her  voice  ended  in  a  sob. 

"Don't  cry,"  pleaded  Lulu,  melting  into 
tears  herself.  "It  will  all  come  right.  We 
will  make  it  come  right." 

"I  don't  know— I  don't  deserve  that  it 
should.  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst  yet. 
He  's  here — in  the  house.  It  was  Jim  who 
was  thrown  out  of  the  motor." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   EXPLANATION  OF — WHY! 

HTHERE  was  dead  silence  in  the  room  for 
*  some  moments.  It  was  broken  by  Lady 
Brewster,  who  said  solemnly: 

"Nanny,  you  know  I  've  always  said  I 
loathed  motors.  I  shall  never  say  that  again." 

Nanny  turned  on  her  passionately. 

"Lulu,  how  can  you?  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  saying.  It  's  ghastly — horrible! 
You  did  n't  see  him  brought  in.  He  looked  as 
if  he  were  dead." 

She  began  to  walk  up  and  down  like  a  wild 
thing  caged  in  within  four  walls.  Then  she 
came  back  to  the  bed,  and  threw  herself  down 
beside  it. 

"If  I  could  go  to  him— but  I  can't!  They 
would  n't  let  me.  He  's  not  conscious.  He 
may  die  and  never  know  what  I  feel.  What 
am  I  to  do?" 

43 


44  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"You  can't  go  to  him,  dear.  You  must 
have  patience, ' '  said  Lulu,  soothingly.  ' '  They 
would  not  let  you  see  him  even  if  he  were 
conscious.  He  is  to  be  kept  absolutely  quiet, 
the  doctor  says. " 

Nanny  moved  her  head  restlessly  and 
moaned. 

"And  you  know,'.'  continued  Lulu,  "I 
don't  believe  Andrew  was  pretending  when  he 
said  he  did  n't  think  he  was  so  very  bad.  Oh, 
yes !  Andrew  tries  to  keep  disagreeable  things 
from  me.  I  know  that  just  as  well  as  you  do. 
But  this  time  I  think  he  was  speaking  the 
truth." 

Nanny  pushed  back  the  hair  from  her  fore- 
head and  looked  up. 

"Think  of  it,  Lulu!  I  haven't  seen  him; 
I  have  n't  heard  his  voice;  I  have  n't  felt  the 
touch  of  his  hand  for  more  than  a  whole  long 
year.  And  to  know  that  he  is  so  near,  and 
that  I  can't  go  to  him!  I  've  been  think- 
ing of  all  kinds  of  things.  Perhaps  he 
had  found  out  where  I  was.  He  may  have 
been  coming  to  see  me. — And  now  it 's  too 


The  Explanation  of — Why!        45 

late!  I  may  never  be  able  to  explain. 
Never,  never!" 

Lulu  was  accustomed  to  be  comforted  with 
small  comforts.  She  poured  some  eau-de- 
cologne  on  her  handkerchief  and  passed  her 
fingers  softly  backwards  and  forwards  through 
the  thick  waves  of  Nanny's  hair. 

The  magnetism  of  her  touch  had  its  effect. 
Nanny  lay  still. 

"You  loved  him  very  dearly?"  Lulu  whis- 
pered presently. 

"Loved  him?"  Nanny  gave  a  long  sigh. 
"He  was  everything  to  me." 

"But  why ?" 

Lulu  hesitated. 

Nanny  knew  the  question  which  hovered 
on  her  lips.  It  must  be  answered  sooner  or 
later. 

"Why  did  I  leave  him?" 

She  raised  her  head  for  a  moment,  then 
dropped  it  again. 

"I  '11  tell  you  everything — then  you  will 
understand.  I  suppose  it  was  my  fault.  I 
must  have  behaved  like  a  fool;  but  I  was  so 


46  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

young,  and  I  knew  so  little;  and  I  loved  him 
so.  It  was  such  a  big  love.  I  did  n't  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  It  ran  away  with  me." 

Lulu's  hand  paused  in  its  slow,  monotonous 
movement,  but  Nanny  caught  it  impulsively. 

"Don't  stop,"  she  pleaded.  "It  helps  to 
put  my  thoughts  straight.  My  head  's  so  hot 
and  everything  whirls  about  in  a  kind  of  maze. 
I  don't  know  where  to  begin. " 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Lulu.  "It  always 
saves  time  when  the  person  you  're  trying  to 
explain  a  thing  to  tells  you  what  they  want 
to  know.  Begin  where  Jim  married  you  and 
took  you  away  in  his  yacht,  and  we  all  thought 
he  had  carried  you  off  into  another  world,  and 
would  never  bring  you  back  again." 

"I  wish  he  hadn't,"  sighed  Nanny.  "It 
was  such  a  beautiful  world." 

She  looked  up  eagerly,  with  wide,  question- 
ing eyes. 

"Why  did  he  marry  me?  He  must  have 
known  such  heaps  of  women  before  he  met 
me.  Women  who  were  pretty  and  clever  and 
amusing,  and  knew  how  to  make  a  man  love 


The  Explanation  of — Why!         47 

them;  and  I  was  only  a  little  wild  thing  who 
had  hardly  ever  been  outside  our  own  glens. 
Why  did  he  choose  me?" 

Lulu  looked  down  into  the  upturned  face. 
She  took  Nanny's  chin  in  the  curve  of  her 
hand. 

"You  are  the  prettiest,  most  maddening 
little  thing  that  was  ever  sent  into  the  world 
to  turn  a  man's  head,"  she  said.  "Tell  me 
about  that  time  on  the  yacht?" 

Nanny  gave  another  long,  long  sigh. 

' '  It  was  heaven !  I  had  never  imagined  that 
the  world  was  so  full  of  beautiful  things.  It 
was  like  a  glorious  dream,  marching  on  and 
on,  and  always  something  more  beautiful  and 
more  wonderful  waiting  to  open  up  before  us. 
There  were  no  sordid  worries  or  bothers.  The 
yacht  was  big  enough  to  take  us  wherever  we 
wanted  to  go.  It  was  our  home  for  nearly  two 
years.  Jim  left  the  army,  you  know,  before 
he  married." 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on  again 
with  hurrying  breath. 

"An  idea  came  to  me  quite  suddenly  one 


48  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

day.  It  makes  me  sick  now  when  I  remember 
it  was  my  own  doing.  I  told  Jim  I  wanted 
to  go  home,  so  as  to  have  a  London  season. 
Well,  we  went.  Jim  was  n't  very  keen  about 
it,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  it  was  the  one 
thing  of  all  things  I  wanted,  and  I  thought 
every  fancy  I  took  was  to  be  gratified;  so  I 
insisted,  and  in  the  end  he  said,  'All  right.' 

"Jim  has  a  house  in  town,  but  it  wasn't 
worth  while  opening  it  up,  for  the  season  was 
pretty  well  on  before  we  got  back,  so  we  took 
rooms  at  the  Hyde  Park  Hotel  and  settled 
down  there. 

"I  thought  I  was  going  to  have  such  a  good 
time,  and  so  I  did  at  first.  I  had  the  loveliest 
frocks!  Oh!" 

She  drew  in  a  breath  sharply. 

"You  know  there  is  something  in  clothes, 
Lulu!  When  they  're  just  right  they  make 
you  feel  good  inside  and  out.  I  felt  like  that 
one  afternoon  when  I  came  into  our  sitting- 
room  ready  to  go  down  to  Hurlingham  with 
Jim.  The  motor  was  at  the  door;  he  had 
bought  me  a  beauty;  and  I  ran  in  quickly, 


The  Explanation  of — Why!         49 

because  I  had  kept  him  waiting.  He  was 
standing  by  the  window  talking  to  a 
woman  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  the 
light  was  falling  full  on  her  face.  She 
was  lovely!  quite,  quite  lovely,  and  she 
was  beautifully  dressed.  Not  in  an  ordinary 
kind  of  way.  I  can't  describe  it,  it  was  too 
subtle. 

"She  was  looking  up  at  him,  and  I  saw  the 
expression  in  her  eyes.  Lulu,  I  could  have 
killed  her  that  very  minute,  just  where  she 
stood! 

"  Jim  introduced  her  to  me. 

"  'This  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  Nanny,  who 
wants  to  make  your  acquaintance,'  he  said. 
'Mrs.' '" 

Nanny  choked  back  the  name  which  rose 
to  her  lips.  An  instinct  of  loyalty  restrained 
her.  For  Jim's  sake  she  would  not  tell  Lulu 
Mrs.  Maynard's  name. 

But  Lulu  understood. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  interrogatively.  "Don't 
trouble  to  explain.  I  know  you  don't  want  to 
say  it.  It  tastes  nasty,  does  n't  it?" 


50  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Nanny's  eyes  hardened. 

"I  think  from  that  very  moment  a  devil 
entered  into  me.  Lulu,  that  woman  fastened 
on  my  life  like  a  blight — a  pestilence.  She 
was  one  of  those  vampires  of  society  who  suck 
the  happiness  out  of  other  women's  lives.  It 
began  from  that  first  day  when  she  went  down 
to  Hurlingham  with  us. " 

"Why  did  you  ask  her  to  go?"  said  Lulu. 

"Ask  her?"  Nanny  laughed  scornfully. 
"She  never  asked  for  things — she  took  them! 
I  don't  know  how  she  did  it ;  I  really  don't. 
Even  looking  back  now  I  can't  understand  it. 
If  I  'd  known,  I  'd  have  fought  her  on  her 
own  ground,  but  she  took  all  the  fight  out  of 
me.  She  shrivelled  me  up.  She  made  me 
feel  a  dummy — a  thing  that  could  only  fume 
with  impotent  rage  and  do  nothing.  Of 
course  I  went  the  wrong  way  with  Jim.  I 
told  him  straight  out  at  once  that  I  did  n't 
like  her,  and  I  kept  on  saying  it,  until  he 
must  have  been  sick  of  the  subject.  He 
laughed  at  me  at  first,  then  he  got  vexed  and 
rather  hurt,  and  said  I  was  n't  kind,  and  that 


The  Explanation  of — Why!         51 

she  had  had  a  lot  of  trouble,  and  it  was  a  shame 
to  keep  all  the  best  things  to  ourselves  and  not 
give  some  one  else  a  good  time  now  and  then. 
Now  and  then !  It  was  always.  And  she  was 
so  clever,  she  never  let  him  see  what  she  was 
aiming  for  until  she  'd  got  it. 

"  One  day  things  came  to  a  climax,  and  I  lost 
my  temper  completely.  I  threw  it  right  in  his 
teeth  that  his  friendship  for  her  was  an  insult 
to  me.  Oh !  I  can  remember  that  scene !  How 
it  comes  back!  He  went  as  white  as  a  sheet. 
I  never  saw  him  really  angry  before.  He  took 
me  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  me.  Yes- 
shook  me!  I  didn't  mind.  I  liked  it!  I 
felt  I  had  roused  him  at  last.  He  dared  me  to 
repeat  what  I  had  said,  and  I  looked  him  in  the 
face  and  repeated  every  word  over  again  de- 
liberately. He  dropped  his  hands  from  my 
shoulders  and  went  out  of  the  room  without 
saying  a  single  word — not  one!" 

Nanny's  voice  broke  in  a  sob. 

' '  That  was  the  hard  part  of  it.  He  would  n't 
explain  or  argue  or  contradict  me.  I  suppose 
he  thought  I  ought  to  take  everything  on  trust. 


52  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

It  was  his  silence  that  I  could  not  fight  against. 
I  did  n't  want  to  hear  what  she  had  been  to 
him  in  the  past,  but  I  would  not  have  her 
claim  his  present.  What  right  had  she  to 
make  claims  on  him?  And  why  did  he  give 
in  to  her?" 

Nanny  beat  her  hands  passionately  on  the 
silk  coverlet. 

"That  was  what  I  wanted  to  know.  And  I 
had  a  right  to  know. " 

Lulu  took  the  little  angry  hands  in  hers. 

"You  will  know,  Nanny — quite  soon.  It 
will  be  cleared  up  now.  He  was  coming  to 
see  you  and  make  everything  right.  Tell  me 
the  whole  story.  You  '11  feel  better  after- 
wards. You  've  been  eating  your  poor  heart 
out  all  alone." 

"  Since  that  scene  with  Jim,  I  don't  think  I  've 
cared  much  whether  I  had  a  heart  or  not," 
sighed  Nanny.  "It  didn't  seem  much  use. 
Everything  went  wrong  after  that.  We  were 
always  at  cross-purposes.  We  left  town  at  the 
end  of  July  and  picked  up  the  yacht  at  Cowes. 
It  was  a  tremendously  gay  season,  you  remem- 


The  Explanation  of — Why !         53 

ber.  Foreign  Royalties  were  there,  and  heaps 
of  our  own  Royalties,  of  course,  and  every- 
body that  was  anybody.  Jim  is  pretty  well 
known  at  Cowes,  and  all  during  the  race  week 
he  was  very  busy,  and  we  entertained  a  good 
deal  one  way  and  another.  We  lived  on 
board  the  Katinata,  but  he  had  his  racing 
cutter  down  there  as  well.  It  would  have 
been  perfect  if  we  'd  been  friends  the  way  we 
used  to  be,  but  it  was  hateful !  She  was  there ! 
And  I  was  more  at  her  mercy  than  I  was  in 
town.  Jim  was  away  so  much.  He  was  al- 
ways with  the  racing  set,  and  she  simply 
walked  over  me.  She  made  as  much  use  of 
the  yacht  as  if  it  had  been  her  own.  She  gave 
orders  as  if  they  came  from  Jim,  but  I  'm  quite 
sure  he  never  knew  anything  about  them. 

"At  the  back  of  all  my  misery  during  that 
time  was  the  certainty  that  after  it  was  over  I 
would  get  rid  of  her.  We  were  to  go  up  to 
Scotland  after  Cowes  to  stay  with  father  for  a 
month's  shooting,  and  she  could  n't  follow  us 
there.  It  had  been  arranged  ages  before.  We 
were  to  cruise  round  by  the  south  of  England 


54  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

and  up  to  the  Highlands  that  way.  The  last 
night  came,  and  Jim  had  a  big  farewell  dinner 
on  board.  The  yacht  looked  lovely.  A  part 
of  the  deck  had  been  fitted  up  as  a  sitting- 
out  room  after  dinner,  and  there  were  masses 
of  flowers  everywhere,  and  music,  and  the 
rigging  was  lit  up  with  soft-coloured  lights. 
For  the  first  time  for  weeks  I  felt  like  my  old 
self.  She  was  there,  but  Ijlid  n't  care.  To- 
morrow we  would  be  gone.  Every  one  said 
such  charming  things  to  me  as  I  stood  at  the 
top  of  the  steps  and  bade  good-night  to  each 
guest  as  they  left.  I  laughed  back  answers 
and  wondered  if  any  of  them  had  the  least 
idea  how  glad  I  was  to  see  the  last  of  them. 

"  She  came  up  to  me  at  the  end,  smiling. 
She  might  have  been  an  angel,  and  she  had  a 
voice  like  an  angel's.  I  can  hear  it  now. 

'This  is  not  good-bye,  Mrs.  Adair.  Your 
husband  has  arranged  such  a  nice  surprise. 
I  'm  going  to  join  you  on  your  trip.  So 
kind  of  him.  I  could  n't  refuse.  '—And  she 
was  gone,  before  I  could  find  words  to  answer 
her." 


The  Explanation  of — Why!         55 

Nanny  threw  back  her  head,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing, two  patches  of  vivid  scarlet  burning  on 
either  cheek. 

"It  was  a  lie!  I  knew  it  was  a  lie!  Jim 
had  n't  asked  her  to  go,  but  he  had  n't  re- 
fused to  take  her,  and  that  was  just  as  bad. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  that  instant  what  I 
would  do.  I  went  down  to  my  cabin  and 
packed  my  clothes.  I  did  everything  myself. 
I  rang  for  my  maid  first,  and  told  her  to  go  to 
bed ;  then  I  was  free  to  do  what  I  liked. 

"When  Jim  came  to  find  me,  I  wouldn't 
listen  to  a  word  he  had  to  say.  I  told  him  that 
I  was  going  back  to  father.  I  had  looked 
up  my  trains  north.  I  had  ordered  the 
launch  to  take  me  ashore  in  the  morning. 
There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  at  all ! 
I  told  him  I  should  take  my  own  way 
whether  he  liked  it  or  not.  And,  Lulu,  he  let 
me  go.  He  never  tried  to  prevent  me  by 
one  single  sign  or  look,  to  show  that  he  cared 
whether  I  went  or  stayed.  That  cut  me  to 
the  heart  more  than  anything  that  he  could 
have  done  or  said. " 


56  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  tears  were  running  down  Lulu's  cheeks. 
With  swift  compunction  Nanny  threw  her 
arms  round  her  neck. 

"Don't!  I  'm  not  worth  crying  about.  I  'm 
selfish  and  everything  that 's  horrid  to  drag 
you  into  my  miserable  troubles.  But  I  had 
to  tell  you.  I  could  n't  keep  it  from  you.  I  '11 
go  away  now.  I  '11  go  away  this  very  minute. 
There  's  nothing  more  now  to  tell.  Nothing 
to  do  now  except — wait. " 

She  gave  a  dreary  sob,  and  her  arms  fell  to 
her  side. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mar- 
garet came  in  with  a  small  tray  in  her  hand, 
on  which  was  a  cup  and  saucer  and  a  little 
brown  jug. 

Lady  Brewster  wiped  her  eyes  hastily  and 
tucked  her  wet  handkerchief  under  the  pillow. 
Nanny  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

"I  know  what  that  little  brown  jug  means, " 
she  said.  "Bed-time,  and  Margaret 's  come 
to  tuck  you  up." 

Before  Lulu  could  whisper  a  last  word  of 
comfort,  she  had  left  the  room. 


The  Explanation  of — Why!         57 

In  the  hall  she  was  surprised  to  find  Sir 
Andrew  standing  by  the  fireplace.  The  light 
of  a  smouldering  log  threw  up  a  dull  glow  on  his 
strongly  marked  features.  He  held  something 
in  his  hand,  which  he  was  turning  over  with 
an  expression  of  uncertainty,  and  he  looked 
troubled. 

Quick  to  take  alarm,  Nanny  came  swiftly 
across  to  where  he  stood. 

"  Is  he  worse?  What  is  the  matter?  Why 
are  you  looking  so  anxious?"  she  asked. 

She  glanced  down  and  saw  what  he  held, — 
a  bulky  pocket-book.  It  was  her  husband's. 
It  was  not  new.  It  had  seen  some  service, 
and  at  the  sight  of  it  a  tightness  came  round 
her  heart,  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  broad 
ledge  of  the  mantelpiece  to  steady  herself. 

"No,  he's  no  worse,"  said  Sir  Andrew. 
"The  doctor  's  with  him  just  now.  He  said 
he  'd  look  in  the  last  thing,  and  he  thinks,  if 
anything,  he  's  a  shade  better.  But  I  want 
your  advice,  Nanny.  It 's  like  this.  The 
man's  not  in  a  state  to  give  an  account  of  him- 
self. He  must  have  been  going  somewhere 


58  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

when  the  accident  happened.  He  must  have 
people  belonging  to  him.  We  '11  have  to  find 
out  who  they  are,  and  let  them  know.  And — 
I  'd  very  much  like  to  know  who  the  man 
is  himself." 

He  again  turned  over  the  book. 

"One  has  a  certain  delicacy  in  prying  into 
a  man's  affairs,  but  I  think  we  are  justified 
in  looking  through  this  to  find  out  who  he 
is." 

From  the  other  end  of  the  hall  came  the 
sound  of  a  door  being  opened  and  shut,  and 
Sir  Andrew  looked  up  to  see  the  doctor  coming 
towards  him. 

The  doctor  bowed  to  Nanny. 

"  Can  you  spare  a  few  minutes,  Sir  Andrew?  " 
he  said.  "Nothing  serious.  My  patient's 
too  big  for  me,  and  I  want  your  help. " 

Sir  Andrew  gave  the  pocket-book  into 
Nanny's  hand. 

"We  will  settle  that  when  I  come  back," 
he  said,  and  left  her. 

Nanny  touched  the  book  tenderly.  She 
held  it  against  her  bosom  as  if  it  were  a  living 


The  Explanation  of — Why!         59 

thing,  and  kissed  the  little  buckle  of  the  strap, 
which  Jim's  fingers  must  have  touched  so 
lately.  Tears  blurred  her  sight  as  she  pressed 
her  lips  against  its  leather  cover. 

Every  hard  thought  of  him  died  out  of  her 
heart. 

She  sat  down  in  a  low  chair  by  the  fireplace 
with  the  book  clasped  in  her  hands.  Should 
she  open  it  or  not?  she  asked  herself.  Perhaps 
Andrew  would  say  that  they  must,  even  after 
he  had  heard  what  she  had  to  tell  him.  He 
might  insist  that  it  was  right  to  find  out  where 
Jim  was  going,  in  case  it  might  cause  trouble  or 
inconvenience  to  any  one.  He  was  particular 
about  things  like  that.  She  fingered  the  fas- 
tening hesitatingly.  If  the  book  was  to  be 
opened,  she  must  do  it  herself.  She  could  not 
bear  to  see  any  one  else  touch  it.  It  opened  so 
easily;  the  letters  and  papers  were  almost 
tumbling  out  of  it.  She  looked  at  each  in 
turn  as  they  came  uppermost  and  laid  them 
in  a  heap  on  her  lap. 

Bills !  Some  of  them  not  opened.  Jim  must 
have  been  in  a  great  hurry,  for  he  was  an  or- 


60  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

derly  person.  A  couple  of  letters  from  the 
Captain  of  the  yacht.  The  Katinata  had  evi- 
dently just  returned  from  a  long  cruise.  She 
smiled  at  Captain  Cragg's  little  cramped  hand- 
writing. The  sight  of  it  cheered  her  like  the 
face  of  an  old  friend.  A  telegram !  She  glan- 
ced at  the  signature.  It  was  from  his  valet 
— so  he  still  had  Griffiths?  It  was  about  trains 
and  luggage.  Griffiths  was  to  be  ready  to 
join  his  master  as  soon  as  he  received  definite 
orders  where  to  go. 

Nanny's  heart  beat  more  quickly.  Jim 
must  have  been  on  his  way  to  find  her!  He 
would  n't  know  his  plans  until  he  had  seen  her. 
It  looked  as  if  he  had  been  undecided  about 
something,  and  Jim's  plans  as  a  rule  were  never 
undecided. 

More  letters!  This  time  all  the  same  size. 
Big,  square  envelopes  addressed  in  a  woman's 
handwritting  to  Captain  Adair  at  a  well-known 
London  club.  She  felt  her  whole  body  stiffen 
as  Mrs.  Maynard's  handwritting  danced  up 
and  down  before  her  eyes.  One,  two,  three! 
She  counted  the  letters  deliberately.  She 


The  Explanation  of — Why !         61 

bent  her  head  and  examined  the  dates  and  the 
post-marks.  They  had  all  been  written  within 
the  last  few  days,  and  from  some  place  not 
twenty  miles  from  where  she  was  sitting  at 
that  moment. 

A  fury  of  anger  swept  over  her.  Jim  had 
not  been  coming  to  find  his  wife.  He  had 
been  hurrying  to  the  side  of  that  other 
woman!  She  never  stopped  to  think  or  to 
calculate.  She  crushed  the  letters,  the  papers, 
the  book — everything,  into  a  heap,  and  spring- 
ing to  her  feet  flung  them  down  amongst  the 
smouldering  logs,  and  catching  up  some  splin- 
ters of  dry  wood  thrust  them  into  the  grate. 
In  a  few  seconds  the  flames  were  roaring  up 
the  chimney,  and  Nanny  stood  and  watched 
them  with  a  flame  a  thousand  times  hotter 
surging  through  her  veins. 

That  night,  before  she  went  to  bed,  she  told 
Sir  Andrew  the  story  of  her  married  life,  but 
this  time  there  were  no  tears  or  repentance  or 
heart-broken  regrets.  She  told  him  the  dry, 
bare  facts,  and  nothing  more. 

Sir  Andrew  marvelled  at  the  want  of  feeling 


62  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

she  showed.  It  was  unlike  her  in  every  way. 
He  did  not  know  the  tremendous  strain  she 
put  upon  herself  to  appear  cold  and  indifferent. 
During  the  silent  hours  of  the  night  when  he 
sat  watching  in  the  sick-room,  he  mused  long 
and  painfully  over  what  he  had  heard.  His 
kind  heart  ached  for  Nanny.  Again  and  again 
his  glance  wandered  to  the  figure  on  the  bed. 
His  eyes  seldom  left  the  man's  face.  There 
were  conflicting  elements  in  the  story  which  he 
could  not  understand.  He 'was  trying  to  piece 
them  together  according  to  his  own  knowledge 
of  human  nature. 

"Nanny's  husband,"  he  mused.  "And — 
he  's  not  a  bad  lot,"  he  said  to  himself  more 
than  once.  "I  'm  seldom  mistaken  in  judging 
a  man  by  his  face.  There  's  something  in  the 
background  that  he  won't  give  away,  some- 
thing which  prevents  him  from  being  able  to 
right  himself  in  Nanny's  eyes.  He  's  working 
on  the  wrong  tack,  probably,  but  he  's  not  a 
bad  lot.  I  '11  swear  to  that.  It 's  a  queer 
business,  and  I  wish  I  knew  the  rights  of  it. " 

For  the  present,  he  was  not  called  upon  to 


The  Explanation  of — Why!        63 

make  any  decision  as  to  whether  he  should 
interfere  in  the  matter  or  not.  Nanny's 
impulsive  act  in  burning  the  pocket-book, 
had  simplified  the  situation  so  far,  that  until 
Jim  Adair  came  to  his  senses  and  was  able  to. 
give  his  own  explanation  of  himself,  all  that 
Sir  Andrew  could  do  was  to  see  that  he  was 
properly  cared  for. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   MYSTERY  FORESHADOWED 

PERHAPS  it  was  just  as  well  that  when  Jim 
Adair  recovered  consciousness  for  the  first 
time,  he  was  alone  in  the  room  with  Margaret. 
For  the  best  part  of  two  days  he  had  lain  in  a 
state  of  dazed  stupor,  only  roused  at  intervals 
to  take  the  nourishment  necessary  to  keep  up 
his  strength. 

"Nothing  to  be  alarmed  about,"  asserted 
the  self-confident  doctor.  "The  wound  in  his 
head  has  caused  slight  concussion.  The 
stupor  will  wear  off  by  degrees.  He  's  had  a 
bad  shaking  and  that  hand  also  will  take  some 
time  to  heal,  but  he  '11  come  round  all  right. 
Keep  him  quiet.  Never  saw  a  man  with  a 
finer  physique  in  my  life." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  Margaret 
was  sitting  by  the  open  window  of  the  sick- 
room, knitting  a  child's  white  sock.  Her 

64 


The  Mystery  Foreshadowed        65 

needles  moved  noiselessly.  The  sunlight 
glinted  on  their  sharp  steel  points  as  they 
glanced  in  and  out  of  the  soft  wool. 

She  had  been  watching  her  patient  for  some 
time  with  more  than  usual  attention.  Pre- 
sently she  rose  and  moved  over  to  the  bed. 
The  eyes  that  looked  up  at  her  from  the  pillow 
wore  a  puzzled  expression,  but  they  were  quite 
sane  and  intelligent. 

Margaret  had  been  told  who  her  patient 
was.  Sir  Andrew  had  said  it  was  better  that 
she  should  know,  and  Nanny  had  seen  the 
wisdom  of  his  advice.  Local  gossip  regarding 
the  accident  and  the  stranger  at  the  castle  was 
unavoidable,  but  if  Margaret  knew  the  truth, 
no  annoyance  would  result  from  it. 

She  had  listened  to  what  had  been  told  her 
in  grave  silence,  and  her  own  shrewd  common- 
sense  had  supplied  what  had  been  left  unsaid. 

"Ye  've  had  a  fine  sleep,"  she  said,  looking 
down  at  the  puzzled  eyes  staring  back  at  her. 

Jim  moved  his  head,  and  the  acute  con- 
sciousness of  pain  ran  through  every  nerve  of 
his  body. 


66  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  he  murmured 
feebly. 

Margaret  poured  some  drops  into  a  medicine 
glass  and  filled  it  up  with  water.  When  she 
held  it  to  his  lips  he  drank  the  dose  obediently. 
He  lay  quite  still  afterwards,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  slowly  round  the  room.  It  was 
strange  to  him,  and  yet  one  or  two  objects  in  it 
were  familiar.  A  travelling  case,  evidently 
packed  with  the  intention  of  supplying  the 
owner's  wants  for  a  few  days'  absence  had 
been  found  in  the  wrecked  car,  and  Jim  recog- 
nised various  articles  in  the  shape  of  brushes 
and  bottles  neatly  arranged  on  the  dressing- 
table. 

His  eyes  came  back  to  Margaret's  face. 

"  That  stuff 's  cleared  my  head  a  bit.    Would 

you  mind  sitting  down  beside  me  and  telling 

me  where  I  am?"  he  asked  in  a  thick  voice. 

'There  was  a  smash,  wasn't  there?    What 

happened?" 

Margaret  knew  that  it  would  do  him  no 
harm  to  listen  to  a  few  minutes'  explanation. 
If  she  did  not  satisfy  him  he  would  only  tire 


The  Mystery  Foreshadowed        67 

his  brain  in  trying  to  work  out  an  explanation 
for  himself.  Margaret's  speech  was  slow  and 
deliberate,  like  everything  else  about  her,  and 
she  was  not  a 'wordy  woman.  Her  voice  had 
a  soothing  effect  and  she  knew  how  much  to 
say  and  how  much  to  leave  unsaid. 

Jim  listened  almost  in  silence. 

When  she  first  mentioned  the  motor  car,  he 
murmured:  "I  got  out  of  my  reckoning  and 
took  the  wrong  turning.  The  brakes  went 
wrong.  It  was  a  brute  of  a  thing.  I  hired  it 
for  the  day." 

"It  did  ye  an  ill  turn,"  said  Margaret. 

"What 's  become  of  it?"  he  asked,  and  she 
explained  that  the  wreck  of  the  car  had  been 
removed  to  an  empty  barn,  and  then  went 
quietly  on  with  her  story. 

When  she  had  told  him  as  much  as  she 
thought  he  was  fit  to  hear,  she  sat  on  in  silence 
and  gave  him  time  to  think  it  over. 

"What  name  did  you  say?"  he  asked,  after 
a  few  minutes.  "What's  the  name  of  the 
man  who  's  taken  me  in  and  been  so  kind  to 
me?" 


68  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Brewster,"  he  repeated  after  her  several 
times,  as  though  trying  to  recall  some  memory 
associated  with  the  name. 

"Dinna  fash  yersel  aboot  names,"  said 
Margaret  soothingly.  "Bide  still  a  wee  and 
try  tae  get  anither  bit  sleep." 

He  was  quiet  for  a  short  time  and  then 
became  restless. 

Margaret  bent  over  him. 

"Are  ye  in  pain?"  she  asked. 

"It 's  not  that,"  he  answered.  "I  want  to 
send  a  message  to  some  one. " 

He  looked  down  at  his  bandaged  hand. 

"A  telegram  would  do.  Will  you  write  it 
forme?" 

Margaret  crossed  to  a  table  by  the  window 
and  brought  from  it  a  telegraph-form  book 
and  a  pencil.  It  was  no  use  telling  him  to  lie 
still  and  go  to  sleep.  He  would  do  neither  so 
long  as  he  had  something  on  his  mind. 

' '  Yes,  sir.  An'  what  shall  I  say? ' '  she  asked, 
laying  the  book  on  her  lap  and  holding  the 
pencil  ready. 

Jim  could  not  make  up  his  mind  what  he 


The  Mystery  Foreshadowed        69 

wanted  to  say,  or  rather  his  brain  would  not 
work  clearly. 

"Can't  you  help  me?"  he  asked  wearily. 
"I  don't  want  the  person  to  know  where  I  am, 
or  what 's  happened.  Just  that  I  could  not 
keep  an  appointment." 

Margaret  wrote  down  three  words  in  a 
round,  distinct  hand,  and  held  them  up  for 
him  to  see. 

"Could  not  come." 

The  strained  expression  of  Jim's  face  re- 
laxed, and  a  gleam  of  humour  flickered  over 
it  for  a  moment. 

"You  know  the  value  of  words, "  he  said. 

"Telegrams  is  no  like  letters,"  answered 
Margaret.  "They  chairge  extra  if  ye  pit  in 
ower  many  words." 

"You  're  Scotch?"  said  Jim. 

"Ay, "  said  Margaret.  "I  'm  Scotch.  Did 
ye  ken  by  ma  tongue?  I  'm  prood  o'  ma 
Scotch.  I  Ve  niver  been  ootside  o'  Pittivie  a' 
ma  days.  I've  sairved  the  family  here  for 
fifty  years." 

She  picked  up  the  pencil  again. 


70  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"What  will  be  the  name  and  the  address, 

sir?" 

"  Mrs.— Maynard,"  said  Jim,  slowly.  Then 
he  tried  to  say  more,  but  looked  at  her  help- 
lessly. "I  can't  remember,"  he  murmured. 
"I  know  I  had  it  somewhere — the  address, 
but — my  head  's  no  use. " 

He  lay  still,  trying  to  think. 

"She  's  not  in  town,  but  it  might  be  sent 
on,"  he  kept  whispering  to  himself;  then,  very 
laboriously,  he  spelt  out  a  London  address, 
which  Margaret  copied  onto  the  telegraph 
form. 

She  did  it  very  slowly,  with  a  curious,  puz- 
zled look  in  her  eyes.  She  had  folded  up  the 
telegram,  and  was  rising  from  her  chair  to 
put  it  into  an  envelope  and  give  orders  for  it 
to  be  sent  down  to  the  village  where  there 
was  a  sub-office,  when  Jim  stretched  out  his 
uninjured  left  hand  and  took  it  from  her. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  've  troubled  you  for  no  use, " 
he  said.  "It  might  not  reach  the  person  it  is 
intended  for.  Do  you  mind  tearing  it  up?  " 

He  leaned  back  exhausted   and  his  eyes 


The  Mystery  Foreshadowed        71 

closed.  He  had  already  fallen  into  a  half- 
sleep  before  she  had  done  what  he  asked. 

Margaret  had  something  to  think  about 
that  evening,  which  caused  her  a  good  deal  of 
wonder. 

"Maynard,"  she  said  over  to  herself  more 
than  once.  ' '  I  ken  the  name  as  weel  as  ma  ain. 
Thon  drunken  buddy  wha  Davie  had  chairge 
o'  was  ca'd  Maynard!  A  fearsome  man! 
Davie 's  life  was  no'  safe  wi'  him.  An*  he  had 
a  wife  in  Lunnon,  and  that  address  he  gied  me 
for  the  telegram  was  whaur  she  bided." 

David  was  Margaret's  brother.  In  force 
of  character  he  resembled  his  sister,  and  it 
was  a  quality  which  he  found  very  useful  in 
his  profession.  In  medical  circles  he  was  well 
known  as  a  man  who  could  be  thoroughly 
trusted  to  undertake  the  charge  of  patients 
suffering  from  the  most  violent  forms  of  drink 
mania. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   PATERNAL   INSTINCT 

A  FTER  that  first  return  to  consciousness, 
*•  Jim  Adair  threw  off  the  effects  of  his 
accident  rapidly.  He  and  his  host  took  a 
mutual  liking  to  each  other;  but  the  vague 
feeling  that  Sir  Andrew's  name  was  somehow 
familiar  to  him,  persistently  haunted  Jim  and 
annoyed  him. 

He  alluded  to  the  subject,  but  Sir  Andrew 
managed  to  evade  his  questions.  The  latter 
had  two  reasons  for  doing  so.  Jim's  head  was 
not  strong  enough  yet  to  stand  any  great 
mental  strain,  and  he  had  promised  Nanny 
to  keep  her  presence  at  the  castle  a  secret 
from  her  husband  until  she  gave  him  liberty 
to  speak. 

The  first  morning  that  Jim  was  allowed  to  go 
into  the  garden,  he  asked  if  he  might  have  his 

chair  placed  where  he  could  look  out  on  the 

72 


The  Paternal  Instinct  73 

sea.  The  sight  and  smell  of  it,  he  said,  were 
the  best  tonic  he  could  have. 

To  the  east  of  the  castle,  and  within  the 
shelter  of  the  ruins,  was  a  stretch  of  short  green 
turf.  It  sloped  very  gradually  down  to  the 
low  wall  which  bordered  the  edge  of  the  cliff, 
and  below  it,  stretching  away  into  the  soft 
haze  of  distance  on  every  side,  was  the  sea. 

It  was  a  quiet  spot,  apart  from  the  garden, 
but  within  sight  of  the  house,  and  Jim's  chair 
was  comfortably  arranged  there,  and  he  was 
left  to  himself,  with  a  thoughtfulness  which  he 
much  appreciated. 

He  was  content  to  lie  still  and  do  nothing. 
The  sea  was  a  companion  of  which  he  could 
never  tire.  It  was  one  of  the  great  volumes  of 
Nature  which  was  full  of  meaning  and  mystery ; 
and  he  lay  and  looked,  to  where  the  blue  of 
sky  and  sea  melted  into  one,  and  the  sensa- 
tion of  limitless  space  soothed  his  tired  brain, 
cramped  for  days  within  the  bounds  of  one 
room.  He  watched  the  fleet  of  fishing  boats 
tacking  before  the  light  breeze  which  ruffled 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  now  and  againf 


74  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

far  out,  he  saw  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  on  her 
way  up  to  one  of  the  busy  ports  at  the  head 
of  the  broad  Firth. 

A  gull  flapped  its  wings  lazily  above  his 
head.  He  heard  the  hoarse  chuckle  of  the 
puffins  and  guillemots  as  they  squatted  on  the 
ledges  of  rock  below ;  there  was  the  faint  smell 
of  seaweed  mingled  with  the  scents  of  the 
flowers  blown  across  to  him  from  the  borders 
in  Lady  Brewster's  garden.  He  half  shut  his 
eyes,  and  allowed  the  peace  of  it  all  to  steal 
over  him  undisturbed.  He  had  almost  drifted 
into  the  land  of  dreams  when  he  heard  the 
click  of  a  gate  opening,  and  looked  across  the 
stretch  of  grass  to  see  from  where  the  sound 
came. 

Sandy  MacNab,  with  his  creel  on  his  shoul- 
ders, had  appeared  from  behind  the  ruined 
gable  and  was  following  a  foot  track  beaten 
into  the  grass,  which  would  lead  him  round  to 
the  back  premises  of  the  castle. 

He  very  often  took  that  way  when  delivering 
his  load  of  fish.  He  could  run  his  boat  close 
under  the  Castle  Rock  unless  the  weather 


The  Paternal  Instinct  75 

was  very  rough,  and  there  was  a  flight  of 
steps  and  a  winding  path  which  led  up  to 
a  gate  leading  into  the  ruins.  He  had  per- 
mission to  use  that  way  when  it  suited  his 
purpose. 

He  saw  the  figure  lying  in  the  chair,  and  was 
passing  on  as  noiselessly  as  he  could,  for  he 
thought  Captain  Adair  was  asleep  and  was 
very  much  afraid  of  disturbing  him. 

Jim  was  not  asleep.  He  saw  Sandy,  and 
the  sight  of  a  man  in  a  sou'wester  and  sea 
boots  interested  him.  He  called  out,  "Good- 
morning,  "  and  asked  him  what  he  had  got  in 
his  creel. 

Sandy  touched  the  brim  of  his  sou'wester 
and  drew  nearer.  In  a  few  minutes  he  found 
himself  talking  to  the  stranger  as  naturally 
as  he  would  have  done  to  Sir  Andrew. 

The  conversation  was  about  boats,  and  gear, 
and  tides,  and  fishing  banks,  and  a  variety  of 
seafaring  matters,  which  Sandy  discovered 
were  as  interesting  to  this  tall,  thin  man,  with 
the  tired  eyes  and  the  pleasant  voice,  as  they 
were  to  himself. 


76  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"And  you  've  got  a  boat  of  your  own  for 
the  small  fishing?"  asked  Jim. 

"Ay,"  said  Sandy.  "The  Bonny  Meg. 
She  's  a  fine  boat,  sir." 

The  naming  of  his  boat  was  the  nearest 
approach  to  a  declaration  of  his  feelings  to 
Margaret  which  Sandy  had  ever  ventured 
upon.  He  was  not  sure  whether  Margaret 
recognised  the  compliment  paid  her. 

"Will  you  take  me  out  in  your  boat?  "  asked 
Jim.  "To-morrow,  say?" 

"Ay,  surely,"  answered  Sandy  readily. 
"I  '11  dae  that  wi'  pleesure,  sir." 

"Can  I  get  down  to  her  from  here?"  said 
Jim. 

Sandy  pushed  back  his  sou'wester  and 
scratched  the  top  of  his  ear. 

"The  brae  's  no  that  bad,"  he  said  doubt- 
fully. "But  ye  dinna  look  ower  strong 
yet." 

"Oh,  I  can  walk  all  right,"  answered  Jim. 
"  You  can  give  me  an  arm  if  it 's  steep.  What 
time  will  you  come  for  me?  " 

The  idea  of  being  on  the  water  pleased  him. 


The  Paternal  Instinct  77 

He  felt  fresh  vigour  returning  at  the  thought 
of  it. 

"Aboot  three  o'clock?"  queried  Sandy. 
"Wud  that  suit  ye?" 

"To-morrow  at  three  o'clock,  then.  I'll 
be  ready.  You  '11  find  me  here,"  said  Jim. 

Sandy,  looking  up,  saw  Margaret  coming  out 
from  the  house,  and  she  carried  something  in 
her  arms  wrapped  in  a  white  shawl.  Jim 
could  not  see  her  very  well,  as  she  halted  im- 
mediately behind  his  chair.  She  asked  him  a 
few  questions,  as  though  she  had  come  out 
to  see  that  he  had  everything  he  required, 
and  while  talking,  she  bent  down  and  laid 
the  white  bundle  she  carried  close  beside  his 
chair;  so  close  that  he  could  not  see  it  from 
where  he  lay,  and  so  quietly  that  her  action 
passed  unnoticed.  Then  she  made  a  sign  to 
Sandy  to  follow  her,  and  led  the  way  back  into 
the  house. 

Jim  lay  still,  thinking  idly  of  Sandy  and  the 
proposed  sail  the  following  afternoon.  Gradu- 
ally he  became  aware  of  something  moving 
beside  him.  It  was  n't  the  active  restlessness 


78  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

of  a  dog  or  a  puppy,  and  if  it  had  been  a  cat 
it  would  have  purred  or  scratched  or  done 
something  essentially  cat-like. 

It  was  something  feeble  and  yet  persistent. 
The  fringe  of  the  rug  which  was  thrown  over 
his  knees  was  being  gently  tugged,  like  a  small 
fish  nibbling  at  a  bait. 

He  turned  on  his  side  and  stretched  over  to 
see  what  it  was.  The  chair  was  a  low  one,  and 
he  found  himself  looking  full  into  the  wonder- 
ing eyes  of  a  little  child.  Its  baby  hands  were 
clinging  to  the  rug.  It  was  trying  to  raise  its 
tiny  body  upwards,  and  its  soft  curls  touched 
his  hand  as  he  held  on  to  the  edge  of  the 
chair. 

For  one  moment  he  saw  the  little  face  dis- 
tinctly. The  solemn,  wondering  eyes,  and 
every  feature  cut  with  the  clearness  of  a  cameo, 
then  it  vanished  from  his  sight.  He  was  star- 
ing at  a  round  of  black,  against  which  spots  of 
light  kept  appearing  and  disappearing  with 
meaningless  persistency. 

He  knew  that  he  was  repeating  Nanny's 
name  over  and  over  again;  that  it  dropped 


The  Paternal  Instinct  79 

from  his  lips  without  any  visible  effort,  and 
that  he  could  not  help  saying  it.  He  recog- 
nised the  name,  but  he  could  not  recognise  the 
voice  which  whispered  it.  Then  the  mist 
cleared,  and  he  saw  the  face  again.  The  won- 
dering eyes  were  still  looking  into  his.  The 
black  cloud  had  only  lasted  for  a  few  seconds, 
but  it  had  seemed  like  an  eternity.  He  put 
out  his  uninjured  hand  timidly,  fearing  that  if 
he  touched  the  child  it  would  vanish  again. 
But  its  body  was  soft  and  warm,  and  his  arm 
closed  round  it  and  he  lifted  it  up  until  it 
nestled  contentedly  against  the  breast  of  his 
coat. 

It  made  odd  gurgling  sounds,  and  its  fingers 
fastened  round  the  links  of  his  watch  chain. 
It  knew  all  about  watch  chains  and  what  lived 
at  the  end  of  them,  for  it  pulled  and  pulled 
and  pulled,  until  it  pulled  the  watch  out  of  his 

pocket,  and  held  it  to  its  mouth,  and  looked 

i 

woefully  disappointed  because  it  would  n't 
play  the  game  properly,  and  open  as  it  ought 
to  do. 

Jim  had  never  held  a  baby  in  his  arms  like 


80  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

that  before,  but  if  any  one  had  tried  to  take 
it  from  him,  he  knew  he  would  have  a  fierce 
desire  to  hit  out  at  them,  and  tell  them  to  leave 
him  alone. 

It  had  wonderfully  caressing  little  ways  and 
made  games  for  itself  out  of  nothing  at  all. 
Then,  with  the  sudden  abandonment  which 
seizes  a  small  child,  it  threw  its  head  down 
on  his  shoulder  and  shut  its  eyes. 

He  felt  its  warm  breathing  against  his  neck, 
and  the  soft,  downy  hair  brushed  his  cheek. 

The  upward  curve  of  the  dark  lashes:  the 
way  the  hair  grew  on  the  baby  forehead: 
the  red  bow  of  the  short  upper  lip.  It  was 
Nanny! — Nanny!  He  touched  one  of  the 
tiny  curls,  and  the  sunlight  turned  it  to 
threads  of  gold,  and  it  seemed  to  cling  to 
his  finger. 

^  Almost  a  sob  broke  from  his  lips.  The  little 
face  brought  back  memory  with  so  vivid  a 
rush  that  he  could  hardly  bear  the  pain  of 
it.  How  often  had  Nanny's  head  lain  there! 
How  often  he  had  twisted  her  hair  round  his 
finger!  How  often  he  had  kissed  her  sleeping 


The  Paternal  Instinct  81 

eyelids,  and  listened  to  her  soft  breathing! 
The  child  moved.  It  opened  its  eyes 
drowsily,  and  then  shut  them  again  with  a 
fluttering  sigh.  He  drew  the  little  curl  across 
his  lips  and  kissed  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PICNIC  AT  COWRIE  BAY 

IN  bringing  about  the  meeting  between  the 
father  and  his  unknown  child,  Margaret 
had  acted  upon  impulse:  a  thing  which  she 
never  remembered  to  have  done  before. 

It  was  against  her  principles,  and  she  re- 
flected afterwards  that  perhaps  it  was  a  judg- 
ment upon  her  that  the  act  involved  her  in 
immediate  difficulties,  and  not  to  put  too  fine 
a  point  on  it,  the  necessity  of  telling  what  she 
frankly  owned  to  herself  were  a  "heap  o' 
lees. "  For  when  she  came  back  to  take  the 
child  away  from  him,  Jim  flatly  refused  to 
give  it  up,  and  asked  questions  about  it  so' 
searchingly  and  to  the  point  that  she  felt  she 
must  either  tell  him  the  truth  or  satisfy  him 
with  conclusive  untruth,  and  she  chose  to  do 
the  latter.  She  told  him  the  child  belonged 

to  a  friend  of  hers,  and  that  she  had  left  it 

82 


The  Picnic  at  Cowrie  Bay          83 

in  her  charge  that  morning  because  she  had 
to  go  away  for  the  day.  She  soothed  her 
conscience  with  the  reflection  that  she  would 
make  a  confession  later,  when  the  need  for 
concealment  was  past. 

She  felt  it  her  duty  to  tell  Nanny  what 
had  happened,  and  Nanny  took  fright  at 
once.  She  knew  that  she  was  only  dallying 
with  time.  Now  that  Jim  was  able  to  go 
about  again  and  inquire  into  the  surround- 
ings of  the  people  he  was  living  amongst,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  keep  from  him  the 
knowledge  of  her  presence  at  Pittivie.  She 
had  wanted  to  go  away;  she  had  implored 
Sir  Andrew  to  allow  her  to  do  so,  but  on  that 
point  he  had  been  inexorable.  He  could  not 
force  her  to  go  back  to  her  husband;  their 
future  relations  towards  each  other  were  a 
matter  which  they  must  decide  for  themselves, 
but  before  Jim  left  Pittivie,  Nanny  must  con- 
sent to  see  him  and  make  known  to  him  the- 
existence  of  the  child. 

"You  ought  not  to  have  kept  its  birth  a 
secret  from  him, "  he  had  said  with  a  severity 


84  The  Yoke  of  Silence     , 

which  she  had  never  heard  in  his  voice  before. 
"He  may  find  it  very  hard  to  forgive  you. 
It 's  the  kind  of  thing  a  man  would  feel  most 
acutely,  for  you  've  placed  yourself  in  a 
position  before  the  world  which  he  will 
resent  quite  as  much  as  his  own  wounded 
feelings." 

Nanny  knew  that  what  he  said  was  true, 
and  no  one  realised  better  than  herself  what  a 
good  friend  her  cousin  had  been  to  her.  She 
argued  the  matter  out  to  herself  that  night 
after  Margaret  had  told  her  about  having  laid 
the  child  down  by  Jim's  chair,  and  what  had 
happened  afterwards.  She  determined  that 
on  the  next  day  she  would  put  an  end  to  this 
terrible  suspense  which  was  becoming  almost 
unbearable. 

Circumstances  occurred  the  following  morn- 
ing to  make  her  change  her  mind.  Sir 
Andrew  and  Lady  Brewster  went  out  to 
lunch.  It  was  an  unusual  thing  for  them  to 
do,  for  they  were  very  much  stay-at-home 
people,  and  Pittivie  was  some  distance  from 
even  its  nearest  neighbours.  It  meant,  prob- 


The  Picnic  at  Cowrie  Bay          85 

ably,  that  they  would  not  be  back  till  the 
evening. 

Nanny  seized  on  the  chance  of  a  reprieve; 
her  courage  fled.  Without  their  protecting 
influence  near,  she  could  not  face  the  meeting 
with  Jim. 

"I  'm  going  to  spend  the  whole  day  out 
of  doors,"  she  announced  to  Margaret  after 
breakfast.  "I  11  ask  Sandy  to  take  baby  and 
me  in  his  boat  to  Cowrie  Bay,  and  leave  us 
there.  You  must  pack  a  basket  for  us  with 
all  the  food  that  we  '11  want,  and  he  can  come 
and  fetch  us  after  tea. " 

Margaret  had  at  first  demurred,  but  after 
a  minute's  consideration  she  had  given  way 
and  quite  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  expedi- 
tion, and  had  herself  seen  the  little  party  off 
from  the  landing-stage  below  the  castle  cliff. 

As  Sandy  was  unfastening  the  rope  which 
held  the  Bonny  Meg  alongside  the  stone  steps, 
she  turned  her  back  on  the  boat,  and  said  to 
him  in  her  low,  quiet  voice: 

"Ye  're  tae  tak  the  gentleman  for  a  sail  in 
the  aifternin,  are  ye  no?  " 


86  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Ay,"  said  Sandy,  busy  with  the  rope,  and 
not  looking  up. 

"Afore  ye  gang  wi'  him,  I  Ve  a  wurd  tae 
say  tae  ye.  Come  roond  tae  my  window  and 
chap  on  the  sill,"  she  said  in  the  same  quiet 
voice  of  authority. 

A  dull  glow  rose  to  Sandy's  sunburnt  cheeks. 
He  did  not  look  up,  but  it  was  because  he 
was  too  much  astonished  to  lift  his  eyes  to 
Margaret's  face.  She  had  never  made  an  ap- 
pointment with  him  before.  The  suggestion 
of  familiarity  it  conjured  up  took  his  breath 
away.  To  be  asked  to  come  and  tap  on 
her  window  sill,  as  though  there  was  some 
clandestine  secret  between  them?  It  was 
almost  incredible. 

"Ay,  Marget,  I'll  dae  yere  biddin',"  he 
stammered  inarticulately,  and  stepping  over 
the  side  of  his  boat  he  began  to  fumble  about 
for  an  oar  to  shove  her  off  from  the  rock. 

Margaret's  own  special  sitting-room  at  Pitt- 
ivie  was  in  a  part  of  the  castle  which  faced 
eastwards,  and  looked  out  over  the  ruins. 
On  one  side,  its  small,  narrow  windows  were 


The  Picnic  at  Cowrie  Bay          87 

completely  hidden  by  the  ivy  which  grew 
rampantly  over  the  outside  walls,  and  Lady 
Brewster  never  could  understand  her  liking 
for  a  room  which  was  gloomy  in  many  ways. 

It  was  part  of  one  of  the  old  towers  which 
had  crumbled  into  decay,  all  except  the  base- 
ment storey,  and  it  had  a  gruesome  history 
connected  with  it.  The  walls  were  of  massive 
thickness ;  and  if  any  one  had  been  permitted 
to  roll  back  the  carpet  from  the  flagged  floor 
of  Margaret's  room,  they  would  have  found 
in  the  centre  a  stout  iron  ring  sunk  into  one 
of  the  square  slabs  of  stone. 

The  stone  could  be  raised  with  difficulty, 
and  revealed  a  yawning  black  hole,  the  depths 
of  which  no  man  had  ever  been  able  to  fathom. 

In  ancient  records  relating  to  the  history 
of  the  castle,  mention  was  frequently  made 
of  the  Death  Tower.  In  the  days  of  feudal- 
ism the  lords  of  Pittivie  had  been  little  kings 
in  the  land,  and  had  administered  justice  ac- 
cording to  their  own  interpretation  of  the  word. 
A  powerful  enemy,  an  unruly  subject,  a  faithless 
wife,  or  a  false  lover — what  more  easy  way  to 


88  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

get  rid  of  them  than  to  lure  them  to  their  own 
destruction  within  the  castle  walls?  A  thrust 
of  the  sword,  a  brief  struggle,  a  strangled 
cry  on  the  brink  of  the  fathomless  grave,  and 
the  Death  Tower  kept  its  own  secrets. 

As  the  eight-day  clock  in  the  hall  chimed 
the  quarter  to  three,  Sandy  tapped  with  the 
handle  of  his  heavy  clasp  knife  on  the  sill  of 
Margaret's  window.  It  was  not  one  of  the 
windows  hidden  by  the  ivy;  it  looked  out 
over  the  sea  and  the  sun  streamed  into  it 
during  the  morning  hours. 

Sandy  was  a  short  man,  and  the  window 
was  high,  and  the  walls  of  the  tower  very 
thick.  He  could  not  see  Margaret's  figure 
very  distinctly,  but  her  voice  answered  his 
sign  at  once. 

"Is  that  you,  Sandy  MacNab?" 

"Ay,  Marget,  it's  me.  Ye  were  speirin' 
aifter  havin'  a  wurd  wi'  me.  What  is't?" 

There  was  a  note  of  eager  expectation  in  his 
question. 

"Ye  're  takin'  the  Captain  oot  in  yir  boat? 
Weel,  I  'm  wantin*  ye  tae  gang  roond  by  yir 


The  Picnic  at  Cowrie  Bay          89 

lobster  pots,  an'  fetch  me,  maybe  twa  lobsters 
— an  some  partins,  forbye. " 

Sandy  felt  as  though  a  bucket  of  cold  water 
had  been  thrown  over  him.  She  had  only 
asked  him  to  come  to  the  window  to  give  an 
order  about  crabs  and  lobsters. 

"But  Marget,"  he  protested,  " her  leddy ship 
does  na  hud  wi'  partins  and  sic  like.  They  're 
no  gude  for  the  deegestion.  I  Ve  heerd 
her  say  that  mysel." 

"  I  'm  wantin'  them,"  said  Margaret,  calmly. 

"An'  the  Captain,"  pleaded  Sandy.  "It 's 
a  bit  sail  he  's  wantin',  no  just  daunderin' 
aboot  the  shore." 

An  idea  struck  him  suddenly. 

"An',  Marget,"  he  continued  eagerly, 
"the  tide  's  no  richt  for  ma  lobster  pots.  It  '11 
be  ower  low.  There  are  a  whin  places  I  canna 
git  the  Bonny  Meg  through.  I  wud  hae  tae 
git  oot  myself  maybe,  and  wi'  anither  weicht 
in  the  boat  I  cud  na  float  her  ower  the  rocks. " 

Sandy  was  making  exactly  the  objection 
Margaret  wished  him  to  make. 

"See   now,    Sandy    MacNab,  I   mun   hae 


90  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

what  I  want,"  she  said  firmly.  "Ye  '11  tak 
the  Captain  for  a  bit  sail — maybe  for  an  hoor. 
Then  ye  '11  tell  him  ye  canna  tak  him  roond 
the  pint  tae  yir  lobster  pots  for  fear  o'  the 
rocks,  an*  ye  '11  land  him  at  Cowrie  Bay,  an' 
ca'  for  him  on  yir  way  back.  D  'ye  unnerstan'  ? 
An'  ye  needna'  let  on  aboot  the  leddy  an'  the 
bairn.  Ye  needna'  tell  him  that  they  're  at 
Cowrie  Bay." 

"Ay,  Marget,  but " 

"It's  chappit  three.  The  Captain '11  be 
waitin'  on  ye, "  came  the  quiet  voice  from  the 
other  side  of  the  window.  It  was  softly 
closed,  and  Sandy  knew  it  was  no  use  trying 
to  say  anything  further. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IS  THAT  CHILD  MINE? 

TIM  was  waiting  for  Sandy;  he  had  not  for- 
^  gotten  his  appointment,  but  would  have 
been  more  interested  in  keeping  it  if  his  mind 
had  not  been  so  much  occupied  in  thinking  of 
something  else. 

The  incident  of  the  day  before  had  made  a 
profound  impression  upon  him.  The  child 
that  he  had  held  in  his  arms,  and  whose  face 
bore  such  a  startling  resemblance  to  that  other 
face  which  was  seldom  .out  of  his  thoughts  for 
long,  haunted  him  persistently.  It  had  roused 
him  from  the  apathy  into  which  his  brain  had 
fallen  since  his  accident.  It  filled  him  with  a 
desire  to  be  up  and  doing  again.  The  recol- 
lection of  what  he  had  set  out  to  do  when  he 
started  on  his  journey  north,  the  details  of  his 
plans  and  motives,  came  back  to  him  distinct 
and  tangible.  Another  day  of  waiting  until 

91 


92  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

the  return  of  his  host  and  hostess,  and  then 
he  would  start  again  on  his  quest. 

Sandy  was  surprised  to  find  the  difference 
that  one  day  had  made  in  Captain  Adair's 
strength  and  appearance.  He  required  very 
little  help  in  getting  down  to  the  boat,  and 
stepped  into  it  and  took  his  seat  at  the  tiller 
almost  mechanically. 

"All  right, "  he  said,  in  answer  to  a  question. 
"I  've  got  one  arm,  anyhow.  If  you  manage 
the  sail,  I  '11  steer  her. " 

His  practised  eye  took  the  measure  of  the 
Bonny  Meg,  from  the  brown  patch  on  the  sail 
which  Sandy  was  hauling  up  the  mast,  to  the 
baling  tin  under  the  seat.  He  turned  his 
head  this  way  and  that  to  catch  the  exact 
quarter  from  which  the  wind  blew.  It  was 
just  enough  to  fill  the  sail,  and  as  the  boat 
got  under  way,  he  leant  back  against  the  seat 
with  a  sigh  of  contentment. 

He  could  not  have  asked  for  a  better 
way  of  spending  the  afternoon. 

When  Sandy  saw  him  take  the  tiller,  he  was 
a  little  anxious.  How  was  he  to  control  the 


Is  That  Child  Mine  93 

movements  of  the  Bonny  Meg  if  he  was  not 
allowed  to  steer  her?  But  he  soon  realised 
it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  Jim  where 
he  went.  He  was  quite  pleased  to  follow 
Sandy's  directions.  They  had  been  out  for 
more  than  an  hour  when  Sandy  began  to  ex- 
plain about  Margaret  and  the  lobster  pots. 
The  little  man's  quaint  terms  of  speech  amused 
Jim,  but  he  found  it  difficult  to  follow  Sandy's 
involved  reasonings. 

"I  see,"  he  said  at  last.  "You  want  to 
leave  me  on  this  side  of  the  point,  and  then 
come  back  to  fetch  me?  Is  that  it?" 

"Weel,  ye  ken,  sir,"  said  Sandy.  "It's 
no  me — it  's  Marget.  If  she  wants  lobsters, 
she  mun  hae  lobsters,  and  the  partins,  forbye. " 

Jim  smiled. 

"  Do  you  always  do  what  Margaret  wants 
you  to  do?" 

"Ay,"  said  Sandy.  "I  'm  under  petticoat 
government,  ye  ken.  There's  na  hairder 
government  nor  petticoat  government,  Cap- 
tain," he  added  solemnly. 

Jim  laughed  outright. 


94  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"  We  'd  better  hurry  then,"  he  said.  "  Where 
is  this  Cowrie  Bay  you  speak  of,  where  I  'm  to 
be  landed?  Can  we  run  in  on  this  tack?" 

"Ay,"  said  Sandy,  relieved  to  find  the  way 
was  made  so  easy  for  him.  "Keep  her  heid 
on  thon  big  black  rock.  She  '11  rin  in  easy. 
It 's  a'  sand  in  Cowrie  Bay. " 

It  would  have  interested  Jim  to  have  helped 
Sandy  with  his  lobster  pots,  but  as  he  was 
evidently  not  wanted,  he  allowed  himself  to 
be  put  ashore  without  any  remonstrance. 

"Don't  forget  to  come  back  for  me,"  he 
called  out  as  he  stood  on  the  wet  beach,  and 
watched  Sandy  thrust  his  oar  into  the  sand 
and  shove  the  Bonny  Meg  into  deep  water. 

"I  '11  no  forget,  and  I  '11  no  be  lang,"  cried 
out  the  little  man.  He  was  very  pleased  with 
himself  at  the  way  he  had  carried  out  his 
instructions. 

Left  to  himself,  Jim  sat  down  on  a  patch  of 
dry  shingle,  and  basked  in  the  sunshine  for 
some  time.  Then  he  rose,  and  leaning  on  his 
stick,  for  the  ground  was  heavy  and  his  legs 
did  not  feel  very  strong  under  him,  walked 


Is  That  Child  Mine?  95 

slowly  along  the  curve  of  the  bay.  There  were 
some  rocks  on  ahead,  and  he  hoped  to  find  a 
comfortable  corner  where  he  could  get  a  lean 
for  his  back  and  perhaps  have  time  to  smoke 
a  pipe  before  Sandy's  return.  He  put  his 
hand  in  his  pocket  to  make  sure  that  his  pipe 
and  tobacco  were  there;  he  could  manage  to 
light  his  pipe  with  one  hand  by  holding  the 
match-box  between  his  knees. 

The  touch  of  his  tobacco  pouch  made  him 
think  somehow  of  his  lost  pocket-book.  He 
had  not  liked  to  make  too  much  of  its  loss, 
because  the  Brewsters  had  been  so  extremely 
kind  to  him,  and  it  might  look  like  a  reflection 
on  the  care  they  had  taken  of  his  property.  He 
concluded  it  had  been  destroyed  in  the  smash 
of  the  motor-car. 

He  now  remembered  quite  well  that  the  ad- 
dress he  had  wanted  on  the  day  when  he  had 
recovered  consciousness  was  among  the  letters 
in  the  pocket-book.  His  future  plans  hung 
very  critically  on  those  letters .  He  would  have 
given  a  good  deal  to  have  recovered  possession 
of  them,  and  as  he  walked  along  with  his  eyes 


96  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

on  the  ground,  he  was  trying  hard  to  remem- 
ber word  for  word  what  they  contained,  and 
the  address  from  which  they  had  been  written. 

He  was  so  busy  thinking  that  he  had  come 
abreast  of  the  ridge  of  rocks  before  he  was 
aware  of  it.  He  looked  up  to  find  himself 
standing  at  the  entrance  to  a  little  cove. 

It  lay  like  a  cup  in  the  shelter  of  the  rock. 
The  sandy  floor  was  very  white,  and  strewn 
with  small  pink  shells;  an  ideal  place  for  a 
picnic  or  for  spending  a  lazy  afternoon,  and 
some  one  had  evidently  found  it  so;  for  Jim 
drew  back  with  an  apology  on  his  lips  when 
he  found  himself  stumbling  over  a  tea  basket 
and  a  bundle  of  rugs. 

A  second  glance  told  him  that  although  the 
evidences  of  occupation  were  there,  the  place 
was  deserted.  He  was  turning  away  and 
about  to  retrace  his  steps  when  he  heard  a 
sound  which  struck  on  his  ear  with  a  shock 
of  familiarity.  The  sound  came  from  a  red 
cushion  fitted  in  between  two  flat  stones  upon 
which  lay  something  wrapped  in  a  white 
shawl. 


Is  That  Child  Mine?  97 

A  little  arm  was  raised  in  the  air  and  waved 
backwards  and  forwards. 

His  feet  refused  to  take  him  away  from  that 
red  cushion,  but  they  did  not  refuse  to  carry 
him  towards  it.  In  another  second  he  was 
bending  over  the  white  shawl.  The  little 
face,  which  had  haunted  him  waking  and 
sleeping  ever  since  it  had  lain  pressed  against 
his  shoulder,  looked  up  at  him.  Nanny's 
eyes! — Nanny's  mouth!  with  the  sharp  curve 
in  the  upper  lip — a  fluff  of  little  curls  tipped 
with  gold,  where  the  ends  caught  the  sunlight! 

"Good  God!"  he  groaned  under  his  breath. 
"Am  I  going  out  of  my  mind?" 

A  few  paces  away,  at  the  back  of  the  rock, 
a  spring  bubbled  out  from  the  green  bank 
which  overhung  the  shore,  and  Nanny,  un- 
conscious of  what  was  happening,  was  kneeling 
by  the  side  of  it,  washing  out  the  teapot  and 
the  other  things  she  had  used,  before  putting 
them  again  in  the  basket. 

She  had  not  been  away  from  the  child  for 
more  than  a  few  minutes,  but  she  hurried 
back,  thinking  she  heard  a  sound. 


98  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Jim  was  half  kneeling  with  his  back  to  her, 
and  for  the  moment  she  did  not  recognise  him. 
What  she  saw  was  a  man's  figure  bending 
over  the  child,  and  terror  seized  hold  of  her. 
She  caught  him  by  his  coat  and  tried  to  drag 
him  back. 

Jim  swung  round  quickly,  and  she  saw  the 
flash  of  recognition  spring  into  his  eyes.  She 
shrank  away  from  him,  and  sank  down  on  the 
sand  by  the  child's  cushion. 

The  surprise  of  the  meeting  to  her  was 
nothing  in  comparsion  to  what  it  was  to  Jim. 
For  days  the  thought  of  it  had  been  hanging 
over  her  head,  and  she  had  anticipated  dis- 
covery at  every  turn.  She  was  prepared; 
he  was  not. 

She  heard  him  repeat  her  name  several 
times  in  a  dull  voice.  Every  vestige  of  colour 
died  out  of  his  face,  and  she  saw  beads  of 
moisture  gather  on  his  forehead.  Her  head 
drooped.  She  dared  not  look  at  him,  but  the 
silence  became  so  terrible  that  at  last  she  had 
to  raise  her  eyes. 

He  was  still  kneeling,  with  his  hand  leaning 


Is  That  Child  Mine  ?  99 

on  the  handle  of  his  stick,  and  staring  down 
at  the  child.  Then  his  eyes  went  from  its  face 
to  hers,  and  then  back  again.  The  child  lay 
contentedly  on  its  cushion,  until  its  attention 
was  attracted  by  his  watch  chain. 

With  a  quickness  of  decision,  which  it  cer- 
tainly inherited  from  its  mother,  it  rolled 
nimbly  over  on  its  side,  and  digging  its  little 
hands  into  the  folds  of  the  shawl,  straightened 
its  back  and  sat  bolt  upright. 

It  made  a  picture  that  an  artist  would 
have  envied.  The  small,  well-poised  figure, 
silhouetted  against  the  blue-black  of  the  rock: 
the  sunlight  shining  like  a  halo  round  the  little 
golden  head:  the  flower-like  face,  with  the 
starry  eyes  alight  with  a  new  expectancy, 
as  it  held  out  its  arms  to  the  man  in  front  of  it. 

Nanny  saw  the  blood  rush  back  to  Jim's 
face.  He  turned  to  her  sharply,  and  caught 
hold  of  her  wrist.  There  was  no  bewilderment 
now  in  his  expression.  His  eyes  were  burning 
with  a  kind  of  fierce  hunger,  which  made  her 
heart  ache  in  pity  for  the  child-love  which 
she  had  denied  him. 


ioo  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

His  fingers  tightened  on  her  soft  skin  with 
a  grip  that  hurt.  She  felt  the  tremor  of  his 
touch  run  through  her  veins  and  set  every 
pulse  throbbing. 

11  Is  that  child  mine?  "  he  demanded.  "  Tell 
me  quickly.  I  can't  bear  it  a  moment 
longer." 

Nanny's  nerves  were  strung  up  to  such  a 
pitch  of  tension  that  an  answer  would  have 
been  forced  from  her  whether  she  willed  it  or 
not. 

"Can't  you  see  that  it  is  my  baby?"  she 
cried.  "It 's  me!  Every  bit  of  her  is  me." 

He  kept  his  hand  on  her  wrist,  and  grasped 
it  still  tighter.  She  could  almost  have 
screamed  with  the  pain  of  it. 

" Say  what  I  ask  you,"  he  repeated.  "It 's 
my  child?" 

"Jim,  what  do  you  mean?"  and  she  turned 
on  him  with  blazing  eyes. 

Then  it  flashed  upon  him  how  his  question 
must  sound  to  her.  A  doubt  of  Nanny  had 
never  crossed  his  mind,  but  the  overwhelming 
knowledge  of  his  own  fatherhood  had  come 


Is  That  Child  Mine  ?  101 

upon  him  with  such  suddenness  that  he  could 
only  dimly  grasp  the  immensity  of  its  mystery. 

He  let  go  his  hold  of  her. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered 
"I  did  not  mean — I  mean  I  was  afraid  to 
think  it  was  true.  I  did  n't  know  what  I  was 
saying, "  he  added  humbly. 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and 
she  realised  with  a  quick  throb  of  pain  how 
thin  and  ill  he  looked. 

"I  've  had  a  bad  smash.  It  knocked  me 
silly  for  a  bit,"  he  murmured. 

He  had  dropped  his  stick  when  he  caught 
hold  of  her  wrist.  He  changed  his  position, 
and  sat  down  on  the  sand,  keeping  his  eyes 
still  shaded. 

She  knew  he  was  trying  to  make  out  the 
meaning  of  it  all  to  himself,  and  presently 
he  would  ask  her  questions.  He  would  not 
storm  or  rail  at  her:  that  was  not  his  way; 
but  his  reproach  would  be  worse  to  bear  than 
anger,  and  he  had  a  right  to  reproach  her 
bitterly. 

The  wrong  he  had  done  her  for  the  moment 


102  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

dwindled  into  insignificance,  for  she  knew 
that  she  had  done  him  quite  as  great  a  wrong 
in  concealing  from  him  the  birth  of  his 
child. 

She  began  to  grow  restless.  When  would 
he  look  up?  she  wondered.  What  were  his 
thoughts?  What  was  he  looking  at?  For 
from  the  way  he  had  turned  his  head  she  could 
not  see  his  expression. 

The  child  again  held  out  its  arms.  It  saw 
the  thing  which  it  had  played  with  the  day 
before,  just  out  of  reach,  and  it  wanted  to  play 
with  it  once  more.  It  threw  itself  forward 
on  its  hands  and  wriggled  off  the  cushion. 
It  looked  a  fragile  little  creature,  but  it  was 
quick  in  its  movements.  In  another  half 
minute  it  was  on  his  knee  and  had  pulled  the 
watch  out  of  his  pocket,  and  was  kissing  it  and 
blowing  on  it  with  baby  delight. 

It  gave  Nanny  the  oddest  sensation  she  had 
ever  experienced  in  her  life  to  see  the  child  in 
its  father's  arms,  and  Jim  did  not  seem  em- 
barrassed by  it.  He  moved,  so  that  it  could 
lean  against  him  more  comfortably,  and  held 


Is  That  Child  Mine?  103 

it  as  if  he  were  accustomed  to  the  touch  of 
its  little  soft  body. 

Something  very  like  a  sob  rose  in  her 
throat. 

"He  has  n't  got  a  thought  or  look  to  spare 
for  me.  He  can't  take  his  eyes  off  her.  He  's 
forgotten  all  about  me." 

She  did  him  an  injustice,  but  Jim's  mind 
was  for  the  time  being  so  completely  off  its 
balance  that  he  hardly  knew  what  he  was 
doing. 

Nanny  felt  very  forlorn  and  dejected,  and 
left  out  in  the  cold.  For  days  she  had  been 
working  herself  up  to  meet  this  ordeal.  She 
had  gone  over  in  her  mind  again  and  again 
what  he  would  say,  and  how  she  would  answer 
his  reproaches,  and  now,  nothing  seemed  to  be 
required  of  her. 

The  baby  suddenly  threw  the  watch  away, 
and  it  slipped  and  rolled  to  within  an  inch  of 
the  hem  of  Nanny's  dress.  She  stooped  to 
pick  it  up,  and  held  it  out  as  far  as  she  dared. 
Jim's  hand  closed  over  hers,  and  he  tried  to 
draw  her  nearer  to  him,  but  she  resisted. 


104  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  faltered. 

"Come  closer,"  he  said.  "I  can't  move, 
and  I  want  to  see  your  face  properly. " 

She  obeyed  him.  She  was  so  close  to  him 
now  that  she  could  see  all  the  lines  about  his 
eyes  and  mouth;  lines  that  never  used  to  be 
there  before;  and  there  was  a  little  grey  in 
his  hair  just  where  it  ran  back  behind  his  ears. 

He  tried  to  speak  more  than  once,  but  she 
could  not  tell  what  question  struggled  for 
utterance.  It  was  one  he  found  very  difficult, 
or  else  he  did  not  know  how  to  clothe  it  in 
words. 

At  last  the  pent-up  bitterness  of  all  the  past 
dreary  loneliness  broke  from  him  harshly  and 
abruptly. 

"  How  could  you  do  it,  Nanny?  How  could 
you  leave  me  and  take  this  from  me?" 

A  tide  of  crimson  swept  over  her  from  neck 
to  brow.  She  bowed  her  head  for  an  instant 
over  her  hands,  then  held  them  out  to  him 
beseechingly. 

"Jim,  I  did  not  know.  I  would  not  have 
left  you  if  I  had  known." 


Is  That  Child  Mine  ?  105 

Her  eyes  met  his  fearlessly. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  she  knew  that  he  be- 
lieved her. 

In  the  distance  sounded  a  call,  which  was 
repeated  more  than  once.  They  looked  up 
to  see  that  the  Bonny  Meg  had  been  run  ashore 
at  no  great  distance  from  the  cove,  and  that 
it  was  Sandy  who,  was  calling  to  them. 


CHAPTER  IX 

NANNY  FACES  HER  HUSBAND 

"\TOT  coming  back  to-night.  Brewster." 
Nanny  read  the  telegram  aloud  with 
a  look  of  dismay  on  her  face.  She  was  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  nursery,  and  Margaret 
was  sitting  in  the  low  rocking-chair,  undressing 
the  baby  preparatory  to  putting  it  to  bed. 

The  telegram  was  addressed  to  Margaret, 
and  had  arrived  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  but 
Nanny  had  only  come  back  a  few  minutes 
before.  She  read  it  over  a  second  time. 

"  I  am  not  going  downstairs  again  this  even- 
ing," she  said  decidedly.  "I  don't  want  any 
dinner." 

She  had  made  exactly  the  same  remark  on 
a  previous  occasion  not  so  very  long  ago,  and 
it  had  been  met  with  the  same  quiet  answer. 

"  Ye  mun  hae  yir  dinner,  mem.    An'  there 's 

106 


Nanny  Faces  Her  Husband        107 

the  Captain?  Sir  Andry  would  na  like  him 
tae  be  negleckit.  He  canna  cut  up  his  meat 
for  himsel'.  The  maister  aye  does  it." 

Nanny  crumpled  up  the  telegram  into  a 
ball  and  threw  it  into  the  fire.  Her  room  and 
the  nursery  adjoined  one  another,  and  the 
doors  between  them  were  always  open.  She 
passed  through  into  her  own  room,  and  sat 
down  in  front  of  the  dressing-table. 

How  her  head  ached!  She  drew  the  pins 
out  of  her  hat,  and  threw  it  down  on  a  chair. 
It  was  heavy  and  uncomfortable,  and  had 
left  a  mark  across  her  forehead. 

She  stared  at  her  own  reflection  and  thought 
how  dull  and  uninteresting  she  looked. 

She  wondered  what  Jim  had  thought  of  her; 
if  he  had  noticed  any  change  in  her?  All 
the  way  back  in  the  boat  she  had  been  con- 
scious that  he  was  watching  her  in  an  intent 
way,  as  though  he  were  trying  to  accustom 
himself  to  an  entirely  new  order  of  things. 

She  ran  her  fingers  restlessly  through  her 
hair.  The  wind  had  blown  it  into  little  tight 
rings  about  her  ears  and  at  the  nape  of  her  neck. 


io8  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  had  better  go  down  to  dinner  after  all, 
she  thought  to  herself.  What  was  the  use  of 
putting  off?  Jim  would  never  be  satisfied 
with  those  few  broken  questions  and  answers 
which  Sandy's  return  had  interrupted.  The 
shock  of  the  meeting  was  over,  but  all  that  lay 
beyond  must  be  faced. 

She  rose,  and  going  over  to  the  wardrobe 
opened  the  doors  and  ran  her  eyes  carelessly 
over  its  contents.  For  the  last  year  she  had 
not  taken  much  interest  in  her  clothes,  and 
she  had  been  in  mourning  most  of  the  time. 
The  mourning  for  her  father  had  been  very 
simple,  and  she  could  count  on  the  fingers  of 
one  hand  all  the  frocks  she  possessed. 

There  was  a  dress  of  some  soft  white  stuff 
which  was  pretty  and  fresh.  It  was  not  an 
evening  dress,  but  she  sometimes  wore  it, 
because  they  often  sat  out  after  dinner  if  it 
was  warm.  Side  by  side  with  it  hung  an 
unbecoming  garment  which  the  local  dress- 
maker had  made,  and  which  she  called  a  tea- 
gown.  It  was  long  and  black  and  limp — 
utterly  shapeless,  and  high  to  the  neck.  The 


Nanny  Faces  Her  Husband       109 

only  redeeming  feature  about  it  was  that  it 
had  open  hanging  sleeves,  and  Nanny's 
arms  were  beautiful.  They  were  very 
white  and  softly  rounded  like  a  child's,  and 
her  hands  did  not  look  useless,  although  they 
were  so  pretty. 

Not  giving  herself  time  to  hesitate  between 
the  choice  of  the  two  dresses,  she  stretched 
up  and  unhooked  the  ugly  black  one  from  its 

peg. 

Jim  was  standing  on  the  hearth  rug  by 
the  fireplace  when  she  entered  the  hall.  She 
knew  he  was  there,  for  she  had  seen  him 
through  one  of  the  slits  in  the  wall  as  she 
came  downstairs.  A  chill  air  had  come  up 
with  the  evening  breeze,  and  there  was  a 
cheerful  wood  fire  burning  in  the  old-fash- 
ioned grate.  As  she  moved  slowly  across  to 
where  he  stood,  he  remarked  that  the  fire 
felt  very  comfortable  and  asked  if  she  were 
cold. 

"  No  thank  you;  I  am  not  cold,"  she  an- 
swered, and  told  him  of  the  telegram,  and 
that  Sir  Andrew  and  Lady  Brewster  would 


i  io  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

not  be  home  that  night;  a  fact  which  he  knew 
already,  but  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  ex- 
plain. 

She  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room,  which 
opened  from  the  hall,  and  Jim  followed  the 
swish  of  her  black  train  as  it  swept  over  the 
polished  boards. 

"He  hates  to  see  a  woman  badly  dressed — 
and  I  know  the  back  hangs  abominably," 
she  said  to  herself,  and  held  her  head  a  little 
higher  than  usual  and  walked  with  much 
dignity. 

Jim  noticed  the  dress,  but  only  to  wonder 
if  it  was  its  gloomy  colour  which  made  her 
look  so  white  and  tired.  Her  youth  and 
vitality  seemed  to  have  deserted  her. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  take  her  at  her 
word  and  stay  away  so  long,  he  kept  saying  to 
himself. 

The  dining-room  was  a  small  room,  panelled 
in  dark  wood  and  with  a  very  low  ceiling.  It 
was  similar  to  many  rooms  of  that  particular 
date  in  old  Scotch  houses  like  Pittivie,  and 
when  the  doors  were  shut,  they  disappeared 


Nanny  Faces  Her  Husband       in 

into  the  lines  of  the  panelling,  and  had  no 
resemblance  to  doors.  The  table  was  round, 
and  the  shaded  lamp  on  it  was  the  only  spot 
of  colour  which  stood  out  from  the  dusk  of  the 
general  background.  The  two  places  had 
been  laid  so  that  neither  the  lamp  nor  the 
flowers  should  interfere  with  the  uninterrupted 
view  each  person  could  have  of  the  other. 

Nanny  felt  as  if  she  were  shut  up  in  a  tight 
box  and  could  not  breath  properly.  It  was  a 
relief  every  time  the  servant  came  in  and  out 
of  the  room  with  the  different  courses.  Jim 
made  conversation  which  was  so  palpably 
forced  that  she  could  not  find  anything  to  say 
to  help  him  out  with  it,  except  meaningless 
platitudes. 

He  politely  accepted  her  offer  to  cut  up  his 
food  for  him,  and  as  she  bent  over  the  plate 
she  felt  supremely  grateful  to  fish  for  growing 
so  many  bones  in  their  bodies.  It  necessi- 
tated her  concentrating  her  entire  attention 
on  what  she  was  doing  for  the  time  being. 

When  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  he  tried 
to  find  the  door  to  open  it  for  her  to  pass  out, 


ii2  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

but  each  panel  looked  exactly  the  same  as  the 
other,  and  she  was  obliged  to  show  him  the 
catch  and  how  it  worked. 

"All  the  doors  here  open  like  that,"  she 
remarked,  glad  to  speak  on  some  subject 
which  was  absolutely  commonplace.  "  A  friend 
of  Andrew's,  staying  in  the  house,  was  once 
shut  up  in  a  room  for  hours.  He  did  n't  know 
how  to  get  out." 

She  looked  up  at  him  for  a  second. 

"You  would  like  to  have  your  coffee  and 
cigarette  here?" 

"No,"  he  answered.  "I'm  coming  with 
you." 

They  passed  on  to  the  end  of  the  hall  be- 
side the  fireplace.  That  corner  always  looked 
cheerful  and  homelike.  A  high  leather  screen 
drawn  partly  across  it  gave  it  an  air  of  privacy. 
There  were  comfortable  chairs.  A  table  was 
drawn  up  to  the  light,  on  which  were  books 
and  the  daily  papers,  and  there  were  quantities 
of  flowers  everywhere. 

Nanny  sat  down  in  a  low  seat  and  picked 
up  a  fire-screen,  which  she  did  not  require, 


Nanny  Faces  Her  Husband       113 

but  she  felt  in  some  way  it  was  a  kind  of 
protection. 

"You  may  smoke  here  if  you  like, "  she  said. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jim.  "But  I  don't 
want  to  smoke  just  now — I  want  to  talk." 

Nanny  moved  uneasily.  She  wished  he  had 
accepted  her  suggestion.  She  wanted  him  to 
do  something  which  would  take  off  his  atten- 
tion, however  slightly,  from  herself. 

He  drew  in  his  chair  near  enough  to  be  able 
to  talk  quietly  without  raising  his  voice.  He 
had  rather  a  low  voice  at  any  time,  and  it  had 
a  very  pleasant  tone  in  it.  Charm  of  voice  is 
one  of  the  best,  and  perhaps  rarest  gifts  a  man 
can  have.  His  left  hand  hung  over  the  armTof 
his  chair  and  almost  touched  the  side  of  hers. 

She  wondered  how  he  would  begin?  It  was 
so  difficult  always  to  say  the  first  few  words. 
She  felt  very  sore  about  many  things,  but 
then  he  must  feel  sore  too?  If  only  he  would 
explain  and  break  down  the  terrible  wall  of  re- 
serve against  which  she  had  beaten  her  wings 
so  helplessly  in  the  past?  If  he  would  only  do 
that,  she  had  some  hopes.  Even  the  fact  of 


ii4  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

that  woman's  letters  being  in  his  pocket-book 
might  not  have  so  much  significance  as  she 
had  imagined.  But  would  he  still  expect  her 
to  trust  him  blindly?  Would  he  still  keep  up 
that  dreadful  silence  which  was  more  paralys- 
ing than  any  anger  or  repoach? 

She  stared  at  the  painted  picture  of  the 
impossible  bird  on  the  fire-screen,  and  was  so 
engrossed  in  thinking  of  what  he  was  likely  to 
say,  and  how  he  would  say  it,  that  she  started 
and  flushed  crimson  to  find  that  his  hand  was 
lying  on  one  of  the  folds  of  her  dress  and  that 
he  was  looking  at  her. 

;<  Thank  you  for — giving  me  the  child, 
Nanny,"  he  said. 

It  was  the  last  thing  she  had  expected  him 
to  say,  and  the  words  were  uttered  simply, 
and  without  demonstration  of  any  kind.  But 
she  knew  every  inflection  of  his  voice — every 
shade  of  feeling  which  it  could  imply,  and  just 
how  much  it  cost  him  to  keep  it  steady  whilst 
he  spoke  these  few  words. 

The  screen  dropped  from  her  fingers  anb 
slipped  down  on  the  rug.  When  he  picked 


Nanny  Faces  Her  Husband      115 

it  up  and  gave  it  back  to  her,  he  saw  that  she 
was  trembling  so  that  she  could  not  hold  it. 

He  stretched  over,  and  taking  a  cushion 
from  another  chair,  put  it  in  at  the  back  of 
hers. 

1 '  Don't  worry  to  talk, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  wanted 
to  say  that  first.  It  means  such  a  lot  to  us 
both,  doesn't  it?"  Then  he  added,  more 
lightly: 

"The  little  blessing  's  the  image  of  you, 
Nanny.  What  have  you  called  her?" 

Nanny  found  her  voice  with  difficulty. 

"They  called  her  after  me,  Nancy — my  real 
name,  you  know.  She  had  to  be  christened 
in  a  great  hurry  because  they  did  n't  think 
she  was  going  to  live.  I  hope  you  don't  mind. 
I  did  n't  know  anything  about  it, "  she  con- 
cluded hastily. 

Jim's  chair  grated  back  sharply  on  the 
polished  floor.  She  did  not  know  what  he 
intended  to  do,  but  the  servant  coming  in 
with  the  coffee  caused  an  interruption. 

Nanny  was  the  first  to  speak  when  they 
were  left  alone  again. 


n6  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"You  forgive  me  for  not  having  written 
and  told  you?"  she  asked  nervously. 

11  It  was  my  fault — not  yours, "  he  answered. 
"I  ought  never  to  have  let  you  go.  God 
knows  I  Ve  been  miserable  enough  this  last 
year.  But  that  letter  you  wrote,  when  I 
wanted  to  patch  up  things!  It  gave  me  the 
idea  you  did  n't  want  me. " 

The  thought  of  that  letter  made  her  cheeks 
tingle. 

"At  last  I  had  to  come  back,"  continued 
Jim.  "I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  I 
landed  at  Southampton — about  a  week  before 
I  came  north,  and  I  went  up  to  town.  I 
thought  there  might  be  a  letter  waiting  for 
me  somewhere,  but  there  wasn't;  and  you 
had  n't  drawn  any  money. " 

He  was  suddenly  conscious  of  the  ugly 
black  frock;  and  she  was  thinner  than  she 
used  to  be. 

"You  haven't  wanted  for  anything?"  he 
asked  sharply.  "They've  been  good  to  you 
here?" 

"Good!"    she   echoed.      "I  think  you've 


Nanny  Faces  Her  Husband       117 

had  an  example  of  their  goodness.  But" — 
and  she  lauged  a  little  nervously — "I  've 
been  rather  lazy  about  some  things." 

She   changed   the   conversation   hurriedly. 

"You  were  in  London.  You  heard  then 
about  father?  " 

"Only  by  chance  the  day  before  I  left," 
said  Jim.  "London's  a  deserted  city  just 
now,  and  I  've  been  knocking  about  in  such 
outlandish  places  that  I  did  n't  get  my  letters 
or  papers  regularly.  I  lost  no  time  when  I 
did  hear.  I  thought  I  would  n't  let  you  know. 
I  would  just  come.  I  was  on  my  way  to  find 
you  when  the  smash  happened." 

The  pocket-book  and  those  condemning 
letters  flashed  back  to  Nanny's  memory. 
She  did  not  know  what  little  devil  prompted 
her  to  blurt  out  her  question  so  abruptly: 

"But  you  were  going  to  see  Mrs.  Maynard 
first?" 


CHAPTER   X 

WHAT  JIM   SAID  TO  HIS  WIFE 

TT  was  a  guess  at  the  truth,  but  it  hit  the 
mark. 

Jim  pulled  himself  together,  and  the  look 
of  drawing  back  into  himself  which  she 
dreaded  came  over  his  face. 

"  I  was  going  to  see  her.  If  you  had  waited 
another  two  seconds  I  would  have  told  you 
so.  But,  how  did  you  know?  " 

Nanny  held  herself  very  upright,  and  drew 
as  far  away  from  him  as  possible. 

"Her  letters  were  in  your  pocket-book. 
I  did  not  read  them — I  guessed.  Andrew 
gave  me  the  book  before  he  knew  who  you 
were." 

"I  should  like  to  have  that  book  back 
again,"  said  Jim  quietly. 

"I  burnt  it,"  said  Nanny.     "Everything. 

118 


What  Jim  Said  to  His  Wife       119 

I  burnt  it  there."  She  pointed  to  the  grate. 
She  was  very  frightened,  but  she  would  not 
show  that  she  was. 

Jim  said  nothing.  He  looked  at  the  place 
which  had  swallowed  up  his  property  whole- 
sale. He  could  imagine  the  scene  exactly  as 
it  happened.  Nanny  in  her  impetuous  way 
bundling  everything  into  a  heap  and  throwing 
it  into  the  flames.  If  he  had  been  in  the  mood 
for  being  amused  he  might  have  laughed, 
but  he  was  n't. 

He  rose  slowly  from  his  seat  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  towering  above  her. 

"Nanny!   look  at  me,"   he  said   sternly. 

He  was  tall;  she  had  to  throw  her  head 
back  against  the  cushion  to  see  him,  and  she 
pressed  her  lips  tightly  together  to  keep  them 
from  quivering. 

"  Give  me  your  hand, "  he  said. 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  put 
her  hand  into  his. 

"I  swear  to  you  on  my  honour — as  your 
husband — any  oath  you  like  to  put  me  on, 
that  I  have  never  wronged  you  in  thought  or 


120  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

deed.  No  woman  comes  before  you,  and 
never  will.  Do  you  believe  me?  " 

She  let  her  hand  lie  in  his  and  she  watched 
his  eyes  all  the  time. 

"I  want  to  believe  you,"  she  answered 
slowly. 

Then  with  one  of  her  impulsive  gestures, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Every  bit  of  me  is  crying  out  that  I  want 
to  believe  you.  I  do  believe  you!  But  you 
must  promise  me  something.  Say  that  you 
will?  Say  that  you  will  promise  me  what  I 
want  before  I  ask?" 

With  the  love-light  shining  in  her  eyes 
and  all  the  wild  charm  of  her  beauty  back 
again  she  stood  before  him,  half  pleading 
half  demanding,  for  his  answer. 

"For  God's  sake  ask  me  something  I  can 
say  'yes'  to,  or  don't  look  at  me  like  that," 
he  said. 

"Promise!"  she  cried,  and  she  came  a  little 
nearer  to  him. 

"  If  I  can, "  he  answered  unevenly. 

"If?"     She  threw  up  her  head  and  was 


What  Jim  Said  to  His  Wife       121 

about  to  break  into  passionate  protest.  Then 
her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"Jim,  you  will  promise  when  you  know 
it  means  everything  to  me.  You  love  me  a 
little  bit  still  ?  Don't  you? ' ' 

"Love  you?"  He  put  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  then  pushed  her  from  him. 

"If  I  loved  you  before,  don't  I  love  you  a 
thousand  times  more,  when  you  're  the  mother 
of  my  child!  Go  on,  tell  me,"  he  said, 
almost  roughly.  "What  is  it  you  want  me  to 
promise?" 

"That  you  will  never  see  that  woman 
again?  That  you  will  never  have  any  com- 
munication with  her  whatever?  That  she 
will  go  out  of  your  life  now — from  this  very 
minute?" 

She  spoke  deliberately,  and  moving  back 
a  step,  watched  him. 

She  saw  that  he  was  struggling  hard  to 
conquer  some  strong  emotion.  He  dared 
not  trust  himself  to  look  at  her.  If  he  had, 
he  would  have  lost  his  head,  and  she  would 
have  been  in  his  arms,  and  once  he  had  felt 


122  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

the  touch  of  her  lips  on  his,  he  would  have 
given  her  his  soul  if  she  had  asked  for  it. 

"Promise,  Jim,"  and  her  voice  trembled 
in  his  ears  like  a  far-away  sigh. 

"I — can't,"  he  answered  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground.  ' '  Not  yet . " 

He  had  expected  one  of  Nanny's  stormy 
outbursts,  but  she  simply  turned  away  from 
him,  and  he  thought  she  was  going  to  leave 
him  without  a  word. 

He  followed  her  and  barred  the  way. 

"I  won't  have  you  leave  me  with  that  look 
on  your  face,"  he  exclaimed  vehemently. 
"Listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  Years  ago, 
before  you  came  into  my  life,  I  gave  a  promise. 
I  bound  myself  to  fulfil  what  I  thought  at  the 
time  was  a  duty,  a  work  of  reparation,  and  I 
promised  to  keep  silence  about  it.  Until  I  'm 
released  from  that  promise,  I  can't  do  what 
you  ask.  You  know  to  whom  the  promise 
was  given.  It  was  true  what  you  said  just 
now.  I  was  going  to  her  to  ask  her  to  give 
me  my  release.  I  can't  see  why  she  should  n't. 
You  are  a  generous  woman.  If  I  were  able 


What  Jim  Said  to  His  Wife       123 

to  tell  you  the  whole  story,  you  'd  be  the  first 
to  hold  out  a  helping  hand  to  the  one  that 's 
down.  Will  you  wait?  Will  you  let  me  go  to 
her  and  ask  her  to  set  me  free?  " 

"She  will  never  set  you  free — Never!" 
answered  Nanny  drearily.  "If  she  sets  you 
free  from  that  promise  she  loses  you,  and  she 
loses  all  the  things  you  can  give  her.  Oh, 
can't  you  see?"  she  broke  out  passionately. 
"But  you  are  blind!  blind!  blind!  She 
wants  to  keep  us  apart.  You  own  yourself 
that  you  cannot  see  why  I  should  not  be  told. 
I  would  be  generous.  I  would  forgive  you 
everything — anything,  if  you  would  only 
trust  me.  But  I  will  not  go  back  to  you  if 
she  is  still  to  come  between  us.  It  would  be 
the  same  wretched  story  over  again,  and  I 
could  not  bear  it.  You  don't  know  her  as  I 
do;  she  would  take  you  away  from  me  again. 
This  miserable  promise !  I  do  not  believe  it  is 
worth  that!"  and  she  snapped  her  fingers 
contemptuously.  "It  is  only  to  have  a  hold 
over  you.  That  is  why  she  values  it. " 

She   stopped   breathless,   and   stood   with 


124  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

drooping  head  before  him.  When  he  tried 
to  speak  she  held  up  her  hand. 

" I  am  thinking, "  she  said.    "Wait. " 

She  moved  about,  touched  some  things  on 
the  table,  altering  the  position  of  an  ornament 
mechanically,  then  she  came  back  and,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  behind  her,  looked  at  him 
steadily. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind,"  she  said. 
"Go  to  her.  Tell  her  how  it  is  between  us, 
and  that  your  promise  is  ruining  your  life. 
Your  life,  remember — because  she  says  that 
she  is  your  friend,  and  friends  do  not  hurt 
each  other  intentionally.  If  she  is  honest, 
she  will  go  right  out  of  your  life  for  ever,  and 
that  is  all  I  ask.  I  do  not  want  explanations. 
I  will  trust  you.  If  she  lets  you  go,  then — 
you  may  come  back  to  me. " 

This  time  she  eluded  him  and  was  across 
the  hall  and  her  foot  on  the  stairs  before  he 
could  stop  her. 

She  paused  by  the  first  of  the  narrow  slits 
in  the  wall  and  glanced  through.  He  was 
listening,  with  his  head  a  little  raised.  When 


What  Jim  Said  to  His  Wife       125 

she  reached  the  second  slit  she  hesitated  and 
came  to  a  standstill.  He  could  not  possibly 
see  her,  for  she  was  high  up  and  the  walls  were 
so  thick.  She  leant  her  arms  on  the  stone 
ledge  which  projected  inwards,  and  looked 
down. 

He  was  now  moving  about.  He  opened 
the  front  door  and  stood  there  for  some 
minutes.  She  could  feel  the  cool  night  air 
wafted  up  to  her  and  hear  the  sound  of  the 
sea  breaking  against  the  cliff. 

Presently  he  came  back  and  held  his 
injured  hand  under  the  light  of  the  lamp.  It 
was  evidently  paining  him  from  the  way  he 
moved  it,  and  Nanny  remembered  with  a 
pang  that  it  had  to  be  dressed  every  night 
and  that  Sir  Andrew  did  it  for  him.  How 
would  he  dress  it  by  himself?  Rather  anxious- 
ly she  watched  him  lift  the  lamp  in  his  left 
hand  and  carry  it  with  him  down  the  hall  in 
the  direction  of  his  own  room. 

She  waited,  straining  her  ears  to  catch  the 
slightest  sound.  For  a  minute  there  was 
silence;  then  came  a  succession  of  crashes, 


126  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

one  after  the  other,  and  in  a  flash  she  was 
down  the  stairs  again. 

He  had  not  upset  the  lamp,  for  the  light 
was  streaming  through  the  open  doorway 
of  his  room,  and  as  she  stood  on  the  thres- 
hold she  saw  what  had  happened.  He  had 
knocked  over  a  basin  and  on  to  the  top 
of  that  a  large  water  jug,  and  a  pool  of 
water  was  spreading  round  the  heap  of 
broken  china. 

He  was  standing  with  his  back  to  her.  He 
had  thrown  all  the  towels  down  on  the  floor 
and  was  stamping  them  into  the  carpet  to 
soak  up  the  wet. 

"What  a  devil  of  a  mess!"  she  heard  him 
saying  to  himself. 

"Jim!"  she  exclaimed,  and  the  face  he 
turned  towards  her  was  so  expressive  of  dis- 
gust and  helplessness  that  she  laughed. 

She  caught  up  the  shovel  from  the  fireplace 
and  pitched  the  broken  fragments  pell  mell 
into  the  bath  which  stood  near.  She  swished 
the  towels  backwards  and  forwards  over  the 
wet  carpet,  and,  rolling  them  up  in  a  heap, 


What  Jim  Said  to  His  Wife       127 

threw  them  on  to  the  wooden  boards  under 
the  washhand  stand. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  her  cheeks  flushed 
with  the  exertion.  "It  hasn't  done  much 
harm." 

Jim  did  not  attempt  to  interfere.  It  would 
have  been  useless  to  try,  for  Nanny's  move- 
ments were  so  quick,  and  there  was  something 
very  refreshing  in  feeling  the  touch  of  her 
old  impetuosity  so  near  him. 

"I  let  the  thing  slip,"  he  explained.  He 
held  up  his  bandaged  hand.  "I  wanted  to 
put  on  some  fresh  lotion. " 

"I  '11  do  it  for  you,"  said  Nanny,  quickly. 
"Where  are  the  things?" 

He  brought  her  a  roll  of  lint  and  the  lotion. 

"I  want  a  pair  of  scissors,"  she  said,  and 
moved  over  to  the  dressing-table  to  fetch 
them.  All  his  things  were  lying  there — the 
brushes,  and  the  bottles,  with  the  familiar 
monograms  staring  her  in  the  face.  She 
caught  up  the  scissors  quickly  and  returned 
to  him. 

She  had  firm  little  hands.     They  did  not 


128  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

hesitate  or  bungle  over  their  work.  When 
the  last  strip  of  lint  was  unrolled  and  she  saw 
the  crushed  fingers  for  the  first  time,  she  did 
not  say  anything,  but  he  saw  her  teeth  tighten 
quickly  on  her  under  lip  and  the  eyelashes 
which  turned  upwards  so  exactly  in  the  same 
way  as  the  baby's  did,  quivered. 

"Do  you  think  it 's  really  better  than  it 
was?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  heaps  better, "  he  answered  cheer- 
fully. "It  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two. " 

She  began  to  put  on  the  fresh  dressing; 
and  it  was  Nanny's  way  to  be  completely  en- 
grossed in  what  she  was  doing  at  the  moment. 
She  was  so  busy  folding  and  twisting  the 
bandage  that  she  was  only  half  conscious  of 
her  nearness  to  Jim.  But  if  she  was  uncon- 
scious, he  was  not.  Every  touch  of  her  ringers 
thrilled  him.  Every  time  she  moved,  her 
hair  brushed  against  his  shoulder,  and  when 
she  bent  her  head  he  could  see  the  little  pulse 
beating  in  the  curve  of  her  white  neck. 

He  was  wondering  how  long  he  could  stand 
it  when  she  glanced  up. 


What  Jim  Said  to  His  Wife       129 

"Is  that  right?  or  have  I  tied  the  handker- 
chief over  it  too  tight?  "  she  asked. 

He  was  afraid  to  keep  her  there,  but  he 
could  n't  bear  to  let  her  go. 

"It  is  rather  tight, "  he  said.  "It 's  apt  to 
stop  the  circulation." 

She  busied  herself  again  with  the  handker- 
chief, slackening  the  pressure  where  it  was 
fastened  round  the  wrist. 

"There!"  she  said  at  last.  "I  don't  think 
I  can  make  it  any  better. " 

"One  thing  more, "  he  said,  "before you  run 
away.  This  sling  that 's  fastened  under  my 
coat.  I  slip  my  fingers  into  it  when  they  ache 
with  hanging  down.  Where  's  the  knot  got 
to?  It 's  hitched  round  my  shoulder  somehow." 

"Oh,  I  see  what  you  mean,"  she  answered 
readily. 

He  was  burning  his  boats  with  a  vengeance 
to  ask  her  to  do  such  a  thing.  She  must  put 
her  arms  almost  round  his  neck  to  reach  the 
knot,  and  it  had  been  very  tightly  tied. 

The  wide  sleeves  fell  back  from  her  arms, 
and  they  looked  very  soft  and  white  against 


130  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

her  black  gown.  What  did  she  think  he  was 
made  of?  he  wondered.  He  was  flesh  and 
blood,  not  a  lump  of  wood. 

"Nanny,"  he  whispered,  bending  his  head. 

She  was  holding  the  scissors  in  her  hand, 
trying  to  loosen  the  knot  with  them.  At  the 
tone  of  his  voice  her  startled  eyes  were  raised 
to  his,  but  her  power  of  action  was  for  the 
moment  paralysed. 

She  knew  quite  well  what  he  was  going  to 
do.  He  caught  her  to  him  and  kissed  her. 
The  touch  of  his  lips  burnt  like  fire,  and 
brought  back  her  senses  with  a  rush. 

Down  went  the  scissors  with  a  clatter  and 
she  wrenched  herself  free,  and  for  the  second 
time  that  evening  fled  up  the  winding  stone 
stairs.  She  stood  outside  her  own  door  press- 
ing her  hands  against  her  hot  cheeks. 

"I'm  not  running  away  from  him,"  she 
panted  breathlessly.  "I  'm  running  away 
from  myself.  If  he  does  that  again  I  will 
never  be  able  to  hold  out.  I  11  go  back  to 
him  on  any  terms.  I  'm  a  fool  about  him, 
in  spite  of  everything. " 


CHAPTER  XI 

NANNY  CONFRONTS  HER  ENEMY 

nTHE  next  morning  there  was  a  note  from 
Lady  Brewster  to  Nanny.  She  explained 
that  their  host  and  hostess,  who  were  old 
friends  of  Sir  Andrew's,  had  insisted  upon 
making  them  stop  the  night,  but  that  they 
were  coming  back  that  afternoon. 

"We  are  bringing  a  party  with  us,"  she 
went  on  to  say.  "There  are  some  English 
people  staying  in  the  house,  and  they  want 
to  see  Pittivie  and  the  ruins,  and  especially 
that  dreadful  hole  in  Margaret's  room.  Tell 
her  to  have  the  stone  taken  up,  and  to  have 
a  very  nice  tea,  because  her  stories  about  the 
Death  Tower  are  sure  to  give  them  the 
horrors;  and  like  a  dear,  make  the  flowers 
pretty." 

Lulu  hated  writing  letters,  and  had  scrib- 


132  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

bled  off  her  note  in  a  great  hurry.  She  did 
not  say  when  the  party  were  to  arrive,  or 
mention  any  names. 

Nanny  was  very  busy  all  that  morning. 
Much  more  busy  than  there  was  any  necessity 
for.  It  could  not  take  her  more  than  two 
hours  at  the  utmost  to  arrange  the  flowers, 
and  there  was  nothing  else  required  of  her; 
her  chief  object  was  to  avoid  a  meeting  with 
her  husband. 

Jim  had  had  a  very  bad  night,  and  his  head 
ached  intolerably  the  next  morning.  He  did 
not  appear  until  late,  and  when  he  did,  he 
asked  if  he  might  have  a  chair  brought  out, 
and  put  in  the  same  place  where  he  had  lain 
on  the  first  morning  of  his  convalescence. 

When  the  gong  sounded  for  lunch,  and 
Margaret  saw  that  her  patient  was  lying  very 
quiet  and  paying  no  attention  to  it  she  stepped 
softly  up  to  him  over  the  grass,  and  found 
that  he  was  fast  asleep. 

"Dear,  dear,  he  looks  sad  like,"  she  mur- 
mured. "He  's  no'  sae  weel  the  day";  and 
she  gave  orders  that  his  lunch  was  to  be  kept 


Nanny  Confronts  Her  Enemy     133 

hot,  and  served  to  him  when  he  asked  for 
it. 

Nanny  had  been  in  and  out  of  the  garden 
all  the  morning,  gathering  flowers  and  arrang- 
ing them  in  the  hall,  and  the  quaint  old- 
fashioned  rooms  which  opened  from  it;  but 
she  had  carefully  avoided  that  particular 
corner  in  the  shelter  of  the  ruins. 

She  had  sent  the  baby  down  to  the  beach 
with  one  of  the  servants,  who  acted  as  nur- 
sery maid  when  required,  so  she  was  free  to 
come  and  go  as  she  pleased. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  to  find  that  she 
was  to  lunch  alone.  She  hurried  through  the 
meal  with  a  nervous  dread  hanging  over  her 
that  Jim  might  appear  at  any  moment;  and 
when  she  had  finished,  she  picked  up  a  book 
from  the  hall  table  and  went  upstairs  to  the 
nursery. 

The  child  was  asleep  in  its  cot.  She  sent 
away  the  girl  who  was  watching  beside  it, 
and  drawing  a  chair  up  to  the  window,  sat 
down  with  the  book  open  upon  her  lap. 

She  could  not  make  up  her  mind  what  she 


134  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

was  going  to  do  that  afternoon:  whether  she 
would  meet  Andrew  and  Lulu  on  their  return, 
and  take  her  part  as  one  of  the  family,  or 
whether  she  would  keep  out  of  the  way  alto- 
gether until  the  visitors  had  gone.  Lulu  would 
understand;  there  would  be  no  need  to  give 
any  explanation  as  to  her  absence;  but  still, 
Lulu  did  not  know  that  she  and  Jim  had  met? 
She  would  still  be  under  the  impression  that 
Nanny  wished  her  presence  at  Pittivie  to  be 
kept  secret. 

She  sat  still  for  some  time,  and  did  not 
attempt  to  read.  Hardly  a  breath  of  air  came 
in  through  the  open  window.  It  was  warm 
and  close:  one  of  those  intensely  still  days 
which  often  fall  in  early  September,  when 
the  warning  note  of  nature  whispers  that 
summer  is  merging  into  autumn. 

The  baby  stirred  and  awoke.  Like  its 
mother,  its  sense  of  vitality  was  very  strong. 
It  was  alert  and  wide  awake  in  a  moment, 
and  beating  with  its  little  hands  on  the  coverlet 
to  attract  attention. 

Nanny  took  it  up  and  set  it  on  her  lap. 


Nanny  Confronts  Her  Enemy     135 

"  He  called  you  a  little  blessing,  and  thought 
you  were  the  image  of  me,"  she  said,  looking 
at  the  baby  critically. 

The  child's  cheeks  were  still  flushed  with 
sleep,  which  made  its  eyes  shine  like  stars; 
and  the  curls  stood  out  round  its  head  in  a 
tumbled  fluff  of  golden  brown. 

Nanny  could  not  have  told  what  influenced 
her  to  do  what  she  did  then.  She  so  often 
acted  on  impulse,  but  there  was  nothing 
impulsive  in  the  way  she  set  about  dressing 
her  baby.  On  the  contrary,  her  actions  were 
unusually  deliberate,  and  she  took  the  greatest 
care  over  every  detail;  from  the  white  kid 
shoes  to  the  discarding  of  the  coral  necklace, 
which  it  generally  wore  round  its  neck. 

"You  are  to  be  a  white  baby,  to-day,"  she 
said,  smoothing  the  delicate  embroidery  on 
the  little  gown,  which  had  been  a  present 
from  Lady  Brewster  a  few  days  before.  It 
left  the  child's  neck  and  arms  bare,  but  came 
almost  down  to  the  toes  of  the  white  kid  shoes. 

"It  's  only  pretty  babies  that  can  afford 
to  be  white  babies,"  she  said,  as  she  set  it 


136  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

on  the  floor  and  gave  it  something  to  play 
with,  whilst  she  went  to  fetch  her  hat  from 
the  next  room. 

She  caught  sight  of  herself  in  the  glass  as 
she  passed  the  dressing-table,  and  looked  un- 
certainly at  the  plainness  of  her  black  skirt. 
It  was  hot  and  heavy,  and  the  day  was  so 
warm. 

She  opened  the  wardrobe  door  and  the  first 
thing  she  saw  was  the  white  gown  she  had 
discarded  the  night  before.  She  took  it  down 
and  changing  quickly  into  it,  ran  back  to  the 
nursery. 

"We  don't  want  hats,  baby;  it 's  so  stuffy, " 
and  catching  up  the  child  she  left  the  room. 

The  old  castle  was  a  rabbit  warren  of  small 
passages,  and  side  stairs,  and  unexpected 
exits  and  entries,  and  Nanny  knew  every 
corner  of  it  by  heart.  It  was  easy  to  slip  out 
into  the  garden,  or  some  part  of  the  ruins  at 
the  back,  without  being  observed. 

She  knew  exactly  where  she  intended  to 
go.  On  the  outer  side  of  a  break  in  the  boun- 
dary wall  was  a  bit  of  ground  which  was 


Nanny  Confronts  Her  Enemy     137 

quite  away  from  the  beaten  tracks  of  any  one 
coming  or  going  to  the  castle.  One  or  two 
broken  heaps  of  masonry  were  scattered  about 
on  the  grass:  over  the  green  mounds  which 
covered  the  records  of  days  long  past  and 
gone  grew  daisies  and  clumps  of  nodding 
harebells. 

It  was  not  likely  that  either  Sir  Andrew 
or  Lady  Brewster  would  bring  their  visitors 
that  way,  .for  there  was  nothing  of  interest  to 
show  them.  Nanny  had  not  made  up  her  mind 
yet  whether  she  wished  to  be  discovered  or 
not.  Perhaps  it  would  simplify  matters  if 
she  were?  If  her  meeting  with  Jim  took 
place  before  strangers,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
it  would  make  it  much  easier.  No  one  would 
know  what  lay  behind,  except  her  cousin  and 
his  wife,  and  they  would  understand. 

She  spread  a  plaid,  which  she  had  brought 
with  her,  on  the  grass  for  the  baby  to  sit  on, 
and  gathering  a  handful  of  daisies  and  hare- 
bells threw  them  into  its  lap.  It  would  play 
with  them  quite  happily.  It  was  not  a  difficult 
child  to  amuse. 


138  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

From  where  she  sat  she  could  see  the  road 
which  ran  past  the  Pittivie  gates.  It  was  the 
only  road  in  fact,  and  the  country  was  so 
flat  that  it  could  be  seen  from  all  sides  wind- 
ing its  way  inland  from  the  coast. 

Presently  she  saw  two  black  objects  in  the 
far  distance.  She  watched  them  with  much 
interest,  for  she  thought  they  meant  Sir 
Andrew's  and  Lulu's  return.  The  first  carriage 
was  probably  theirs ;  the  second  would  contain 
the  friends  whom  they  were  bringing  with 
them. 

As  the  objects  drew  nearer  and  took  a 
definite  form  she  saw  that  she  was  right.  She 
could  recognise  Sir  Andrew's  heavy  double 
dog-cart,  and  the  horses,  because  the  horses 
were  unevenly  matched — a  brown  and  a  grey 
—and  the  difference  of  colour  showed  a  good 
way  off.  The  second  carriage  looked  like  a 
large  waggonette,  and  kept  at  a  short  distance 
behind  the  other. 

It  was  not  possible  to  drive  right  up  to  the 
doors  at  Pittivie.  Those  who  had  planned  the 
castle  had  done  so  with  the  object  of  defence, 


Nanny  Confronts  Her  Enemy     139 

not  of  convenience,  in  their  minds.  The  inner 
wall  stopped  all  traffic,  except  to  those  who 
came  on  foot,  and  though  Nanny  could  not 
see  the  people  arriving,  she  knew  what  was 
taking  place.  She  heard  the  carriages  drive 
up  to  the  door  in  the  garden  wall,  through 
which  Jim  had  been  carried  on  the  day  of  his 
accident:  she  heard  the  sounds  of  laughter 
and  talking,  and  then  she  heard  the  rumble 
of  empty  carriages  as  they  drove  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  stables. 

She  would  certainly  stay  where  she  was  for 
the  present,  she  decided.  She  glanced  at  her 
watch.  It  was  not  yet  four  o'clock. 

She  leant  back  against  the  green  bank,  and 
sat  still  for  some  time.  The  ground  smelt 
sweet  and  aromatic.  There  were  tufts  of 
yellow  crow's-foot  and  wild  thyme  growing 
amongst  the  short  turf. 

"More  flowers,  baby?"  she  said  presently, 
rousing  herself.  "Naughty,  to  pull  off  the 
heads  of  the  pretty  blue  flowers, "  and  stretch- 
ing out  her  hand  she  gathered  all  the  harebells 
within  reach,  and  twisting  them  into  a  wreath 


140  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

threw  it  laughingly  on  the  child's  brown 
curls. 

Up  went  the  little  hands  at  once  to  pull  it 
down. 

"No!"  she  said.  "Baby  not  to  touch," 
and  she  held  up  her  finger  warningly. 

A  low  bank  of  green  crowned  with  daisies 
and  waving  harebells,  and  in  the  distance 
the  shimmer  of  the  sea.  In  the  foreground  the 
two  white  figures  of  mother  and  child.  The 
child  stretching  up  its  dimpled  arms  to  snatch 
the  flowers  from  its  head ;  the  mother  bending 
forward  with  words  of  soft  rebuke  on  her  lips. 

That  was  the  picture  that  Nanny  and  her 
baby  made  as  they  sat  on  the  grass  and  played 
with  the  blue  harebells. 

Nanny  looked  up  with  laughter  still  on  her 
lips,  and  saw  two  people  coming  towards  her 
— a  man  and  a  woman.  The  man  was  her 
husband,  and  the  woman  was  Mrs.  Maynard. 
They  had  not  seen  her,  and  they  were  walking 
very  slowly.  She  had  perhaps  half  a  minute 
to  beat  down  the  horrible  feeling  of  suffoca- 
tion which  she  felt  choking  her.  She  could 


Nanny  Confronts  Her  Enemy     141 

not  have  moved  to  save  her  life,  but  she 
forced  herself  to  keep  her  eyes  fixed  on  those 
two  moving  figures. 

Jim  was  walking  with  his  head  down,  and 
leaning  heavily  on  his  stick.  The  woman  by 
his  side  was  bending  so  much  towards  him 
that  only  her  profile  could  be  seen,  and  the 
willowy  outlines  of  her  slender  figure  stood 
out  in  strong  relief  against  the  background 
of  the  grim  old  ruins.  Chiffon  and  lace  and 
clinging  draperies  trailed  over  the  grass  behind 
her:  pale  colours  of  the  softest  shades  blended 
one  into  the  other  with  subtle  harmony.  A 
scarf  of  amber  gauze,  with  heavily  embroi- 
dered ends,  had  fallen  from  her  shoulders  to 
below  her  waist.  She  had  caught  it  up  with 
one  hand  and  was  twisting  and  untwisting  it 
round  her  wrist  with  the  slow  languid  grace 
which  characterised  all  her  movements. 

Not  a  look  or  gesture  was  lost  upon  Nanny, 
although  Mrs.  Maynard's  face  was  turned 
almost  away  from  her.  She  could  only  see 
where  the  drooping  feathers  curled  over  the 
brim  of  the  hat,  and  lay  on  the  waves  of 


142  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

shining  hair,  but  she  could  have  described 
exactly  the  expression  in  the  lustrous  blue 
eyes  which  were  raised  pleadingly  to  Jim's 
face.  The  sight  of  the  woman  and  her  beauty 
brought  back  to  Nanny  with  a  sting  of  pain 
the  misery  of  the  past.  It  braced  her  nerves. 
She  felt  the  blood  tingling  through  her  veins. 
The  fighting  instinct  awoke  in  her,  and  now 
she  had  a  weapon  to  fight  with  which  she 
had  never  had  before.  Instinctively  her  arm 
tightened  round  the  little  body  which  rested 
so  close  to  her  own :  Jim's  words  of  the  previous 
night  rang  in  her  ears : 

"If  I  loved  you  before,  do  I  not  love  you 
a  thousand  times  more  as  the  mother  of  my 
child?" 

An  exultant  throb  made  her  heart  beat 
quickly  as  her  glance  rested  for  a  moment  on 
the  little  flower-wreathed  head. 

She  drew  herself  up  with  a  new  dignity, 
unlike  the  old  attitude  of  defiance,  and  kept 
her  eyes  steadily  on  the  couple  advancing 
towards  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  HAREBELL   WREATH 

TIM  was  the  first  to  become  aware  of 
*"*  Nanny's  presence.  She  saw  him  look 
up,  and  knew  by  the  change  which  passed 
over  his  face  that  he  had  seen  her. 

Mrs.  Maynard  was  quick  to  notice  the 
change  also.  He  had  been  looking  worried 
and  deadly  pale  the  moment  before.  She  saw 
the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilate  suddenly  and  the 
blood  mount  to  his  brow,  and  she  turned  her 
head  to  see  what  had  distracted  his  attention 
from  herself. 

She  saw  the  two  figures  distinctly,  for  she 
and  Jim  had  drawn  very  near,  but  for  a 
moment  she  failed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of 
the  situation. 

Her  surprise  at  finding  Jim  at  Pittivie  had 
been  unbounded,  but  she  had  not  shown  it 

143 


144  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

too  obviously.  She  had  greeted  him  as  an  old 
friend,  and  when  the  party  had  broken  up 
to  wander  over  the  ruins,  it  had  seemed  a 
natural  thing  that  they  should  walk  together, 
and  quite  simple  to  manoeuvre  so  as  to  leave 
the  others  behind. 

To  Jim  it  seemed  as  though  the  opportunity 
he  had  been  praying  for  had  been  flung  at  his 
head,  but  so  abruptly  that  he  did  not  know 
how  to  use  it.  He  had  allowed  Mrs.  Maynard 
to  lead  him  where  she  chose,  and  had  listened 
mechanically  to  her  caressing  voice  as  she 
asked  questions  about  his  accident,  and  mur- 
mured soft  reproaches  as  to  why  he  had  not 
let  her  know  where  he  was.  His  brain  was 
on  the  rack  the  whole  time  to  think  how  he 
was  to  put  into  words  the  question  which  he 
was  determined  nothing  should  prevent  him 
from  asking. 

They  had  not  been  alone  for  more  than  a 
few  minutes.  Nanny's  name  had  not  been 
mentioned.  Mrs.  Maynard  had  no  knowledge 
of  where  Jim's  wife  had  been  for  the  last  year 
or  more,  whilst  he  had  been  a  wanderer  in 


The  Harebell  Wreath  145 

his  yacht,  self-banished  from  civilisation.  She 
had  not  heard  of  Nanny  since  the  night  of  the 
farewell  dinner  on  board  the  Katinata  when 
she  had  said  good-bye  to  her  with  a  smiling 
lie  on  her  lips. 

For  it  had  been  a  lie.  Jim  had  never  asked 
her  to  come  on  the  cruise  up  to  Scotland.  She 
had  coaxed  and  flattered  and  used  every 
blandishment  she  could  think  of  to  try  and 
persuade  him  to  take  her,  but  he  had  put  her 
off  with  laughing  excuses,  and  she  had  under- 
stood quite  well  that  under  the  light  jests 
there  had  been  a  determination  which  she 
could  never  shake.  It  had  been  pure  devilry 
that  had  made  her  tell  that  smiling  lie.  Nanny 
had  looked  happy  and  lovely  in  the  hope  of 
her  coming  freedom,  and  the  man  Mrs.  May- 
nard  had  been  sitting  out  with  after  dinner 
on  the  yacht's  deck  had  raved  about  Nanny's 
beauty  and  declared  she  was  the  prettiest 
woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

Suddenly,  without  a  moment's  warning, 
she  found  herself  brought  face  to  face  with 
Nanny  again;  and  after  the  first  shock  of 


146  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

surprise  she  realised  that  she  had  no  longer 
an  impulsive  girl  to  trick  into  petulant  jeal- 
ousy and  impotent  anger. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  discon- 
certing in  those  clear  wide-open  eyes  which 
met  hers;  and  the  sight  of  the  child  was  as 
though  some  one  had  struck  her  a  blow  in  the 
face. 

It  was  so  startlingly  like  its  mother.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  relationship  the 
one  bore  to  the  other.  And  Jim's  stiff  manner 
and  obvious  constraint  when  they  had  met 
that  afternoon  so  unexpectedly  was  now 
explained!  for  to  see  Mrs.  Maynard  as  a  casual 
visitor  to  Pittivie,  amongst  Sir  Andrew's 
guests,  was  certainly  the  last  thing  Jim  could 
have  anticipated.  It  had  puzzled  and  amazed 
her;  now,  she  knew. 

Sylvia  Maynard  was  a  good  actress,  but 
she  was  taken  off  her  guard.  She  rose  to  the 
occasion,  but  she  over-acted  her  part.  She 
took  the  initiative  too  quickly.  She  glided 
forward  with  outstretched  hand  and  threw 
herself  open  to  a  rebuff. 


The  Harebell  Wreath  147 

But  there  was  no  rebuff.  Nanny's  self- 
possession  saved  the  situation.  It  might  have 
been  acutely  painful  or  absurdly  melo-dram- 
atic.  It  was  neither!  To  an  onlooker  it  would 
have  appeared  quite  natural  and  commonplace. 
It  did  not  seem  even  strange  that  Nanny 
should  evade  the  outstretched  hand,  for,  for 
some  reason,  the  child  was  seized  with  an 
unusual  fit  of  shyness. 

It  threw  itself  into  her  arms  and  hid  its 
face  on  her  shoulder. 

Jim  had  seen  Nanny  in  many  moods,  but 
never  in  one  like  the  present.  He  would 
willingly  have  spared  her  this  ordeal  and  he 
was  prepared  to  stand  by  her,  but  he  realised 
that  she  was  stronger  than  he  was;  and  pride 
in  her  strength  kept  him  silent. 

She  had  not  looked  at  him  once,  yet  he 
knew  she  was  thinking  of  his  feelings,  and 
how  best  to  pass  off  the  meeting  so  as  to  hurt 
him  as  little  as  possible. 

He  felt  he  had  never  loved  her  so  dearly, 
and  mingled  with  his  love  was  a  very  deep 
sense  of  respect  and  gratitude. 


148  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  contrast  between  the  two  women 
struck  him  forcibly.  Mrs.  Maynard's  languid 
grace  had  deserted  her.  To  cover  her  nervous- 
ness she  rushed  into  a  babble  of  talk:  senti- 
mental nonsense  about  the  baby  which  set 
Jim's  teeth  on  edge. 

Nanny's  manner  was  very  quiet,  but  quite 
composed.  She  listened  politely  to  the  pretty 
speeches  showered  upon  her,  but  always  with 
that  clear,  alert  look  in  her  eyes.  Mrs.  May- 
nard  broke  into  a  little  burst  of  enthusiasm, 
and  poured  out  reproachful  wonderings  as 
to  why  she  had  never  heard  of  the  baby's 
existence? 

"Such  an  old,  old  friend  as  I  am, "  she 
murmured,  appealing  to  Jim,  whose  silence 
was  so  discouraging  that  she  hurried  on  to  the 
subject  of  Pittivie  and  the  odd  coincidence 
of  her  staying  in  the  neighbourhood  with 
friends  of  the  Brewsters: — anything  to  keep 
the  ball  of  conversation  rolling  until  she  could 
make  an  excuse  for  putting  an  end  to  a  situa- 
tion which  was  making  her  feel  more  ill  at  ease 
than  she  ever  remembered  to  have  felt  before. 


The  Harebell  Wreath  149 

Nanny  had  no  wish  to  prolong  the  inter- 
view. Under  her  outward  calm  lay  a  feverish 
anxiety  to  give  Jim  the  opportunity  he  wanted ; 
and  the  strain  she  was  putting  upon  herself 
was  beginning  to  tell.  When  Mrs.  Maynard 
bent  forward,  and  tried  to  pat  the  little  head 
which  was  still  obstinately  turned  from  her, 
she  drew  back  sharply. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  more  of  the 
ruins,"  she  said,  forcing  her  voice  to  sound 
natural.  "Pittivie  is  a  very  interesting  old 
place." 

"It  is  charming,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  May- 
nard. "I  was  just  saying  so  to  your  hus- 
band when  we  caught  sight  of  you  sitting 
here." 

She  had  said  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  the 
instant  she  had  uttered  the  useless  untruth 
she  saw  the  frown  deepen  on  Jim's  face. 

Where  were  her  wits?  She  was  all  going 
to  pieces,  she  thought  angrily.  She  was  in 
the  habit  of  telling  fibs  by  the  dozen,  but 
never  before  Jim.  If  she  stayed  another 
moment  in  sight  of  that  girl's  terrible  eyes 


150  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

she  knew  that  she  would  give  herself  away 
utterly. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  move  on,"  she 
said  nervously.  "  I  am  with  a  party,  you  see. 
We  will  meet  later,  of  course,"  and  murmur- 
ing a  few  incoherent  commonplaces,  she 
gathered  up  the  loose  ends  of  her  scarf. 

Jim  followed  her,  and  Nanny  allowed  them 
to  go  a  few  spaces  beyond  where  she  was 
sitting  without  speaking.  Then  she  raised 
her  voice  slightly. 

"Jim!"  she  said. 

He  stopped,  and  would  have  come  back, 
but  her  eyes  told  him  that  was  not  what  she 
wanted. 

"I  don't  think  I  will  come  in  to  tea,"  she 
said.  "Will  you  tell  Lulu,  please?  She  will 
understand. " 

"Very  well;  I  will  tell  her,"  he  answered. 

Perhaps  the  baby  recognised  his  voice? 
It  struggled  up  from  where  it  was  hiding  its 
face,  and  looked  over  its  mother's  shoulder. 
It  held  the  harebell  wreath  crushed  in  its 
grasp,  and  with  a  baby  laugh,  threw  the 


The  Harebell  Wreath  151 

flowers  from  it,  and  they  fell  touching  Jim's 
foot. 

"My  daughter  hits  straight,"  he  said 
gravely,  as  he  stooped  to  pick  up  the  wreath, 
and  walked  on,  holding  it  in  his  hand. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  Nanny  watched  the 
last  flutter  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  amber  scarf 
disappear  round  a  projecting  gable. 

She  held  the  child  closer. 

"You  are  a  little  blessing, "  she  murmured. 
"He  's  taken  your  flowers  away  with  him! 
She  '11  have  to  fight  hard  to  get  him  back ! 
We  've  helped  him  all  we  can,  baby. " 

Mrs.  Maynard  walked  with  a  pathetic 
droop  of  her  shoulders,  and  cried  softly  as 
she  walked.  It  was  not  an  unbecoming  form 
of  crying,  and  the  tears  were  wiped  away  with 
a  lace  pocket-handherchief  before  they  could 
roll  down  her  cheeks. 

Jim  had  often  seen  her  cry  before.  It  had 
always  made  him  feel  rather  a  brute,  and 
that  he  was  responsible  in  some  way  for  the 
tears. 

This  time  he  was  conscious  that  her  tears 


152  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

irritated  him  to  such  a  degree  that  he  would 
have  liked  to  have  taken  that  lace  handker- 
chief away  from  her  and  torn  it  into  bits. 

His  nerves  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  his  accident.  A  crisis,  on  which  the 
entire  happiness  of  his  life  and  those  dear  to 
him  depended,  faced  him,  and  he  required 
all  his  strength  to  meet  it.  His  manhood 
revolted  against  being  demoralised  by  a 
crying  woman. 

He  walked  on  for  some  time  trying  to  master 
himself  before  he  spoke.  Their  steps  led  them 
back  in  the  direction  of  the  castle,  but  it 
was  a  part  of  the  ground  which  was  evidently 
little  used.  Nettles  and  weeds  grew  amongst 
heaps  of  stones  and  rubbish.  A  ruined  tower, 
all  except  its  lower  storey  crumbling  into 
decay,  jutted  out  from  one  of  the  walls,  and 
round  it  the  ivy  hung  in  dense  masses.  A 
wooden  bench  was  propped  up  against  the 
ivy-covered  wall.  It  was  a  lonely  spot,  and 
Jim  knew  that  the  house-party  had  already 
passed  that  way  and  were  not  likely  to  return. 

"Sylvia,"   he   said   abruptly.      "There   is 


The  Harebell  Wreath  153 

something  I  must  say  to  you  before  we  go 
back  to  the  others.  Will  you  sit  down  here 
for  a  few  minutes  and  listen  to  me?  " 

She  obeyed  him  with  a  deprecating  humility 
which  he  owned  angrily  to  himself  had  the 
same  irritating  effect  as  the  wet  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

She  did  not  allow  him  to  have  the  first  word. 
She  had  always  got  the  better  of  him  when 
she  appealed  to  his  feelings,  and  she  would 
not  believe  that  her  power  over  him  was  gone. 

"Jim, "  she  said,  in  the  low  vibrating  tones 
he  dreaded  to  hear.  "It  was  almost  more 
than  I  could  bear.  It  was  so  unexpected,  so 
sudden.  And  the  sight  of  that  little  child — 
your  child!" 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  the  bosom  of  her 
dress. 

"It  brought  home  to  me  so  terribly  my 
loneliness.  All  that  my  life  is  cut  off  from. 
The  happiness  I  shall  never  know." 

Her  voice  fell  to  a  whisper. 

"And  what  might  have  been?  Oh,  Jim! 
when  I  think  of  those  past  days:  that  golden 


154  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

year  of  happiness  when  we  were  engaged. 
All  the  rest  of  my  life  seems  to  have  been  a 
dark,  dreary  blank  in  comparison. " 

She  raised  her  hand  and  covered  her  eyes. 
That  appeal  to  the  old  days  and  her  own 
loneliness  could  not  fail  to  awaken  his  sym- 
pathy. But  no  response  came.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  the  words  stuck  in  his  throat.  He 
was  a  generous  man :  generous  with  the  single- 
mindedness  which  is  perhaps  more  character- 
istic of  a  man  than  of  a  woman.  He  had  never 
looked  for  motives  in  her  conduct.  Through 
good  report  and  evil  report  he  had  always 
believed  that  her  friendship  for  him  was 
sincere.  And  yet — he  hesitated  to  speak. 

Then  Nanny's  words,  and  the  simple  direct- 
ness with  which  she  had  put  the  choice  he 
was  to  make  before  him,  came  like  a  guiding 
hand,  leading  him  out  of  the  web  of  soft 
words  which  he  felt  was  being  woven  round 
him. 

He  roused  himself.  He  knew  his  voice 
sounded  harsh  and  unsympathetic,  but  he 
could  not  help  it. 


The  Harebell  Wreath  155 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "you  are  my  friend? 
You  have  told  me  so  again  and  again.  A 
true  honest  friend?" 

"Can  you  ask  me  such  a  question?"  she 
murmured.  "You  know  I  would — I  would 
give  up  everything  for  you!" 

' '  Hush ! "  he  exclaimed  peremptorily.  ' '  You 
must  not  say  that."  Then  he  added  more 
gently,  "I  want  you  to  give  me  up.  I  can 
no  longer  be  your  friend.  I  want  you  to  let 
me  go  out  of  your  life  as  though  I  had  never 
been  in  it." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JIM'S   FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM 

HTHE  significance  of  that  useless  lie,  which 
had  rippled  so  glibly  off  Mrs.  Maynard's 
tongue  when  she  had  told  Nanny  that  she 
had  been  calling  Jim's  attention  to  the  beauty 
of  the  ruins,  as  they  drew  near,  had  not  been 
lost  upon  Jim,  and  he  watched  her  closely 
as  he  spoke. 

He  saw  an  extraordinary  change  come  over 
her  face.  It  came  and  went  quickly ;  like  the 
warning  flash  of  a  beacon  fire  out  of  the 
darkness  of  the  night. 

He  recoiled  instinctively  before  the  shock 
of  its  surprise.  In  that  one  moment  of  self- 
betrayal,  she  tore  the  scales  from  his  eyes, 
and  he  saw  her  as  she  really  was. 

The  shamelessness  of  an  evil  nature  was 
painted  in  blazing  letters  on  the  beautiful 
face  distorted  with  passion. 

156 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom         157 

A  sickening  sense  of  disgust  and  humilia- 
tion swept  over  him.  "Blind!  blind!  blind!" 
Nanny's  words  hammered  on  his  brain.  It 
was  for  this,  that  he  had  sacrificed  his  wife: 
had  insulted  in  her  all  that  he  had  bound 
himself  to  honour  and  protect.  He  had 
deserted  her;  and  his  unborn  child!  The  fact 
that  he  had  not  known  about  the  child  when 
he  let  Nanny  go  from  him,  did  not  appeal 
to  him  as  any  manner  of  excuse.  He  had 
married  her;  taken  her  away  from  her  home, 
a  young,  unsophisticated  girl,  peculiarly  in- 
nocent of  the  world's  ways.  His  care  of  her 
ought  to  have  been  so  tender,  so  guarded, 
and  he  had  deserted  her  for  this ! 

He  looked  down  at  the  faded  flowers  he 
still  held  in  his  grasp.  He  thought  of  the 
little  innocent  hands  which  had  thrown  them 
at  his  feet;  and  he  allowed  them  to  drop  to 
the  ground.  They  burnt  his  fingers.  He  was 
not  worthy  to  touch  them,  and  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  self-reproach  he  realised  what  he 
must  have  made  Nanny  suffer. 

He  heard  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  and  his  name 


158  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

murmured  in  broken  tones.  He  moved  farther 
away  from  the  woman  sitting  beside  him, 
and  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  He  did  not 
require  to  look  up  to  know  that  the  gust  of 
passion  was  past;  she  had  once  more  taken 
up  the  role  of  the  weak,  defenceless  woman 
appealing  to  the  emotional  side  of  his  nature. 
Did  she  know  that  she  had  revealed  herself 
to  him?  he  wondered. 

"Jim,  you  cannot  mean  what  you  say?" 
and  her  voice  had  the  mournful  note  of  one 
wronged  and  misunderstood.  "Think  of  the 
past!  The  terrible  burden  which  always  lies 
upon  me — my  wrecked  life!  I"— her  voice 
trembled — "I  am  not  reproaching  you,  Jim, 
but  you  know  my  love  was  spurned — thrown 
back  upon  me,  and  that  to  drown  my  misery 
I  married  the  man  who  has  ruined  my  life; 
disgraced  me,  so  that  I  dare  not  let  his  very 
existence  be  known." 

She  struck  a  note  of  tragic  despair  in  her 
last  sentence,  which  was  not  without  its 
touch  of  reality.  Then  her  voice  sank  again 
to  one  of  soft  entreaty. 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom         159 

"And  your  promise,  Jim?  You  cannot 
break  that?  Your  promise  that  my  miserable 
secret  would  be  safe  in  your  keeping,  and  that 
you  would  shield  me  from  the  terror  which 
has  haunted  me  night  and  day?  You  cannot 
— you  cannot!  Think  of  the  past  and  what 
you  were  to  me  once!  Do  you  forget,  Jim? 
Can  you  possibly  have  forgotten?  " 

He  held  up  his  hand,  and  she  shrank  before 
the  stern  coldness  of  his  face. 

"There  is  not  a  single  detail  of  that  past 
which  I  have  forgotten,"  he  said.  "To  show 
you  how  willing  I  am  to  acknowledge  any 
wrong  I  did  you,  I  will  not  spare  myself. 
You  reminded  me  just  now  of  the  year  of  our 
engagement?"  He  paused  for  a  moment. 
"  What  was  I  then? — a  boy  of  four-and-twenty, 
and  you  were  seventeen,  and  hardly  out  of  the 
schoolroom.  I  fell  in  love  with  you  honestly 
and  openly.  I  asked  you  to  marry  me,  and 
I  thought  it  was  the  most  wonderful  thing 
in  the  world  when  I  found  you  cared  for  me, 
and  your  mother  sanctioned  our  engagement, 
for  I  was  n't  much  of  a  match  for  you.  I  was 


i6o  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

only  a  subaltern  in  an  Infantry  regiment, 
with  a  few  hundreds  a  year  beside  my  pay, 
and  two  healthy  lives  between  me  and  the 
money  which  came  to  me  a  few  years  later. " 

"Those  beautiful,  beautiful  days  of  long 
ago,"  murmured  Mrs.  Maynard.  "I  can 
hardly  bear  to  hear  you  speak  of  them." 

"I  am  speaking  with  an  object,"  answered 
Jim.  "  It  is  extremely  painful  for  me  to  do  so. 
I  want  that  past  to  stand  out  clearly  in  both 
our  minds.  We  were  to  be  engaged  for  a  year. 
Towards  the  close  of  that  year  my  regiment 
moved  its  quarters,  and  I  did  not  see  you 
for  some  time,  and  during  that  time  several 
things  happened.  You  were  taken  away  from 
the  quiet  home  where  I  had  met  you  and 
launched  into  society  by  your  aunt.  She  was 
a  clever,  brilliant  woman  of  the  world,  and 
she  was  bent  upon  making  you  a  success.  It 
was  not  difficult!  I  came  back  to  find  you 
had  taken  the  London  world  by  storm.  You 
had  only  to  hold  up  your  finger  and  you  could 
have  had  almost  any  man  you  liked  at  your 
feet.  I  did  not  grudge  you  your  triumph,  be- 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom          161 

cause  you  told  me  that  you  were  true  to  me, 
and  that  no  one  else's  love  came  before  mine. 

"  I  believed  you,  and  for  a  time  I  was 
happy.  Then  began  doubts  and  misunder- 
standings, and  everything  went  wrong,  and 
it  was  I  who  was  always  in  the  wrong.  Per- 
haps I  was  exacting  and  did  not  understand 
you.  I  was  hot-headed  in  those  days,  and 
took  my  own  way  of  hitting  back,  and  I 
suppose  I  made  a  fool  of  myself.  You  accused 
me  of  flirting  with  another  woman,  and  I 
turned  on  you  and  broke  off  our  engagement. 
Oh,  yes!"  he  said,  as  she  tried  to  interrupt 
him.  "  It  was  all  my  own  doing.  I  know 
exactly  what  was  said  at  the  time.  That  I 
had  jilted  you  and  behaved  abominably,  and 
you  were  well  rid  of  me.  Six  weeks  afterwards 
you  accepted  Maynard.  When  I  heard  who 
it  was  you  were  going  to  marry  I  refused  to 
believe  it.  A  drunkard !  A  gambler !  A  man 
who  wasn't  fit  to  speak  to  an  honest  woman. 
If  it  had  n't  been  for  his  money  he  would  have 
been  kicked  out  of  society." 

"You  drove  me  to  it.      I  was  in  despair! 


1 62  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

What  was  life  worth  to  me  after  I  had  lost 
you?  I  did  not  care  what  became  of  me!" 

Sylvia  Maynard  gasped  out  her  words 
between  little  pants  and  sobs. 

"I  took  the  blame.  I  am  bearing  the 
consequences  of  it  now,"  answered  Jim. 

"You  left  me  to  my  fate,"  she  moaned. 
"  For  five  terrible  years  I  never  saw  you. 
I  never  even  heard  of  you.  It  was  more  than 
I  could  bear.  If  you  had  not  come  to  me  that 
time  I  should  have  gone  mad.  I  should  have 
killed  myself ." 

Jim  corrected  her  statement  gravely. 

' ' That  time? "  he  echoed.  "You — mean, 
when  you  sent  for  me — and  I  came.  I  found 
you  practically  in  the  hands  of  a  lunatic,  who 
had  gambled  away  his  fortune,  and  had  drunk 
himself  into  a  state  of  degradation,  and  was 
not  responsible  for  his  actions.  I  took  him 
away  from  you  and  insured  your  safety.  I 
promised  you  that  as  long  as  he  lived  I  bound 
myself  to  provide  for  him  in  such  a  way  that 
he  should  never  trouble  your  peace  again. 
You  were  free  to  go  back  to  the  world  and 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom          163 

take  your  place  in  it,  and  forget  him  if  you 
could." 

"And  your  promise  of  secrecy,  Jim?  You 
know  how  I  felt  about  it?  How  the  disgrace 
haunted  me.  I  dreaded  to  think  that  people 
knew  of  the  shadow  which  haunted  my  life. " 

"Yes,"  said  Jim  slowly.  "I  promised. 
I  had  only  myself  to  think  of  then.  It  was 
six  years  ago.  I  wanted  to  make  life  as  easy 
as  I  could  for  you,  because  it  lay  heavily  on 
my  conscience  that  if  I  had  not  broken  my 
faith  with  you  you  would  not  have  married 
Maynard,  and  this  misery  would  have  been 
spared  you." 

He  paused.  Now  came  the  hardest  part 
of  his  task.  He  had  led  her  over  the  old 
ground  purposely.  He  had  hoped  that  by 
doing  so  he  would  touch  the  best  side  of  her 
nature. 

He  steadied  his  voice  with  an  effort. 

"Sylvia,  I  did  not  treat  my  wife  fairly. 
Before  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  I  ought  to 
have  made  you  release  me  from  that  promise 
of  secrecy.  It  would  never  have  harmed  you. 


1 64  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  secret  would  have  been  as  safe  in  her 
keeping  as  in  mine.  I  will  be  perfectly  plain 
with  you — the  circumstances  demand  it.  You 
have  come  between  us.  She  knows  that  you 
have  some  claim  on  me  which  I  cannot  explain. 
She  will  not  come  back  to  me  so  long  as  you 
stand  between  us.  Can  you  blame  her?  Put 
yourself  in  her  place  and  you  will  understand. 
Telling  her  the  truth  cannot  harm  you.  But 
surely  you  can  see  that  the  worst  possible 
construction  must  be  put  on  my  actions  so 
long  as  you  keep  me  to  this  bond  of  silence. 
I  am  not  justified  in  keeping  it.  My  first 
duty  is  to  her.  I  ask  you  to  let  me  go  to  her 
and  clear  up  every  doubt  by  telling  her  the 
simple  truth.  All  my  happiness  is  bound  up 
in  hers.  Can  you  refuse  to  do  what  I  ask 
when  I  put  it  in  that  light?  " 

"Oh,  Jim — Jim— Jim!"  wailed  Mrs.  May- 
nard,  and  the  reiterated  sound  of  his  own 
name  sickened  him.  "It  is  hard — hard. 
To  take  up  my  terrible  burden  again  and  go 
back  to  the  old  life!  How  can  I  do  it?" 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  do  that.     I—  "    He 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom         165 

caught  himself  up  quickly.  His  promises 
had  cost  him  dear  in  the  past,  he  must  be 
careful  of  his  words.  "I  want  to  be  able  to 
tell  Nanny  the  whole  story  without  any  reser- 
vation. I  am  sure  when  she  does  hear  it  she 
will  not  prevent  me  from  doing  what  I  have 
done  for  the  past  six  years.  She  will  look 
upon  it  as  an  act  of  humanity;  and  it  can 
be  done  in  a  way  that  will  not  cause  her 
pain. 

"I  hate  bringing  up  the  subject  of  money, 
but  this  is  no  time  for  sentiment.  With 
Nanny's  knowledge  and  consent,  I  'm  willing 
to  undertake  the  cost  of  keeping  Maynard 
under  proper  control.  So  far  it  has  been  done 
through  you.  You  wished  it,  if  you  remember? 
You  said  it  gave  you  a  hold  over  him,  and  as 
you  desired  privacy  above  all  things,  perhaps 
it  was  better  so.  Now  it  must  be  worked 
differently.  It  can  be  done  through  my  man 
of  business  to  the  person  who  's  responsible 
for  him." 

Jim  was  not  looking  at  his  companion,  or 
he  would  have  seen  her  face  blanch,  and  a 


1 66  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

look  of  terror  come  into  her  eyes.  She  turned 
her  head  aside. 

"You  have  always  been  so  good,"  she 
faltered.  "I  value  your  generosity — indeed 
I  do.  What  hurts  me — what  I  cannot,  cannot 
bear,  is  that  you  ask  me  never  to  see  you 
again.  Take  back  those  words,  Jim.  Think 
of  my  loneliness.  Deserted  by  the  one  friend !  * ' 
and  her  handkerchief  went  up  her  eyes. 

"Friend?"  he  echoed.  His  temper  was 
beginning  to  rise.  "After  what 's  come  and 
gone?  Now  that  you  know  how  matters 
stand  between  Nanny  and  myself?  Don't 
you  think  it  seems  rather  a  mockery  to  drag 
in  the  word  friendship?  You  're  a  woman  of 
the  world.  Can't  you  see  the  impossible 
position  I  am  in?  Whilst  I  was  abroad  and 
Nanny  and  the  child  were  living  here  quietly 
with  her  own  people  it  did  not  so  much  matter ; 
but  now " 

He  made  an  impatient  movement: 

"I  tell  you  she  won't  come  back  to  me 
unless  you  give  up  the  idea  of  ever  seeing  me 
again,"  he  continued  hotly,  unable  to  control 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom         167 

the  intense  irritation  which  was  boiling  within 
him.  "What  good  would  friendship  such  as 
mine  be  to  you?  You  force  me  into  being 
absolutely  brutal.  Good  God,  Sylvia!  What 
use  have  you  for  a  man  who  belongs  body 
and  soul  to  another  woman?" 

He  hated  himself  for  allowing  his  anger  to 
get  the  better  of  him,  but  she  was  trying  him 
to  the  uttermost.  A  kind  of  sullen 'rage  fell 
upon  him.  Pity  for  her  died  out.  He  would 
not  rise  from  that  bench  until  he  had  wrung 
the  answer  which  he  wanted  from  her. 

She   spoke   to   him   with   downcast   eyes. 

"Will  you  give  me  time  to  think  it  over?" 
she  said,  and,  drawing  herself  up  with  a 
certain  dignity,  added,  "I  have  some  pride 
left." 

"Time?"  said  Jim.  "What  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

Her  dignity  collapsed.  It  would  be  safer 
to  stick  to  her  original  character,  she  thought. 

"Time  to  accustom  myself  to  this  parting. 
I  will  have  to  plan  my  life  anew.  I  must 
sever  myself  from  old  associations.  Give  me 


i68  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

time  before  you  tell  her.  To  know  that  all 
my  miserable  life  is  to  be  laid  bare  before  the 
eyes  of  another!  I  want  to  go  away  first,  and 
be  lost  to  the  world. " 

Jim's  irritation  increased.  And  yet — she 
was  taking  it  better  than  he  had  expected. 
He  felt  that  she  was  yielding.  Freedom  to 
claim  the  love  he  hungered  for,  and  which  he 
dared  to  hope  was  not  yet  utterly  lost  to  him, 
was  almost  within  his  reach.  The  knowledge 
softened  his  heart. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  time?  "  he  repeated. 

Swiftly  her  thoughts  ranged  themselves 
into  some  kind  of  order.  If  only  she  could 
gain  time!  She  had  not  made  up  her  mind 
what  use  she  was  going  to  make  of  it,  but  her 
powers  of  resource  had  never  failed  her  yet. 
She  would  not  ask  for  too  much,  for  she  held 
him  by  so  slight  a  thread  that  she  dared  not 
run  the  risk  of  his  breaking  away  from  her. 
She  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  gazed 
at  him  imploringly. 

1  Give  me  a  week — one  little  week  is  all  I 
ask  for.    Out  of  the  years  of  happiness  which 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom          169 

lie  before  you,  spare  me  that  one  short  week. 
Give  me  time  to  hide  myself.  To  pass  out 
of  your  life  for  ever. " 

Her  voice  quivered  and  broke. 

"I  am  doing  this  for  your  happiness.  For 
your  sake  I  am  giving  up  all  that  makes  life 
dear  to  me." 

It  was  a  fine  touch  of  feeling  and  might 
have  landed  Jim  on  dangerous  ground,  but 
an  immediate  answer  was  spared  him. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  high  treble 
voice  calling  Mrs.  Maynard's  name  at  no 
great  distance,  and  they  looked  up  to  see 
a  young  girl  with  a  mane  of  flaxen  hair  tum- 
bling over  her  shoulders  running  towards 
them. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Maynard's 
host,  and  had  come  with  the  party  that  after- 
noon, and  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her 
father's  guest. 

Mrs.  Maynard  leant  forward. 

"Jim,"  she  pleaded,  "you  will  not  refuse 
my  last  request?  " 

He  had  half  risen  from  his  seat,  but  he  sat 


170  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

down  again.  Words  seemed  to  be  dragged 
from  him  against  his  will. 

"A  week?"  he  said  reluctantly.  "I — well, 
I  will  not  tell  her  for  a  week  from  to- 
day." 

The  girl  ran  up  to  them  breathless. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Maynard,"  she  cried,  "you 
must  come  and  see  the  hole  in  the  floor,  where 
they  used  to  throw  the  people  down  long 
ago.  Sir  Andrew's  housekeeper  is  going  to 
tell  us  all  about  it,  and  I  ran  away  to  find  you. 
I  knew  you  'd  be  so  interested,  and  they  're 
waiting  for  you.  Do  come,  do  come!" 

She  hung  on  Mrs.  Maynard's  arm  as  she 
poured  out  her  words  excitedly,  and  tried  to 
drag  her  along  with  her.  Mrs.  Maynard  felt 
she  would  have  liked  to  have  slapped  the 
pretty  flushed  face  raised  to  hers.  She 
revenged  herself  by  walking  as  slowly  as 
possible,  and  allowing  her  amber-coloured 
scarf  to  catch  on  every  obstacle  which  came 
in  its  way. 

When  she  reached  the  front  door  she 
forced  herself  to  smile,  and,  disengaging  the 


Jim's  Fight  for  Freedom         171 

girl's  hand  from  her  arm,  pushed  her  from  her 
playfully. 

"Run  on  and  tell  them  I  am  coming,  and 
that  I  am  so  sorry  to  keep  them  waiting." 

Then,  as  the  girl  vanished,  she  turned  to 
Jim: 

"Thank  you  for  what  you  said  just  now — 
the  last  favour  I  shall  ever  ask  of  you."  She 
hesitated  and  looked  down.  "Are  you  going 
to  stay  on  here?  I — I  want  to  know.  To 
feel  that  you  are  so  near,  and  yet  that  such  a 
gulf  separates  us!  Tell  me  in  pity,  so  that  I 
may  know  what  to  do." 

Jim  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  made 
little  marks  on  the  gravel  with  his  stick,  and 
moved  about  the  stones  aimlessly.  He  hadn't 
thought  of  what  he  was  going  to  do.  For  a 
whole  week  he  was  to  remain  tongue-tied. 
How  could  he  bear  to  be  under  the  same  roof 
with  Nanny,  and  meet  her  constantly,  while 
this  cloud  was  still  between  them.  He  knew 
that  he  could  not  bear  the  strain. 

"I  shall  not  stay  here,"  he  said  at  last. 
"I  shall  go  away  as  soon  as  possible — to- 


172  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

morrow,  most  likely.  There  are  important 
arrangements  to  make.  I  shall  come  back 
for  her  when  everything  is  settled." 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured;  and  she 
heard  the  voice  of  the  girl  calling  again  to  her 
from  the  distance. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN   THE  DEATH   TOWER 

TN  obedience  to  the  message  sent  to  her  in 
Lady  Brewster's  note  to  Nanny,  Margaret 
had  given  instructions  for  the  stone  in  the 
Death  Tower  to  be  raised.  It  required  two 
men  to  lift  it,  for  it  was  large  and  heavy,  and 
had  not  been  raised  from  its  socket  for  some 
years. 

Margaret  knew  all  the  old  stories  connected 
with  Pittivie,  and  when  visitors  came  to  see 
the  castle  she  was  expected  to  show  them 
over  it.  That  afternoon  she  had  made  her 
preparations  as  usual.  With  a  large  bunch 
of  keys  in  her  hand  she  had  taken  a  careful 
survey  of  the  house  and  thrown  wide  the 
doors,  for  the  many  mysteries  and  windings 
of  the  old  castle  were  endless. 

After  she  had  finished  her  duties  she  went 
173 


174  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

back  to  her  own  room,  and,  taking  up  her 
work,  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  to  wait  until 
she  was  called  for. 

The  afternoon  was  exceptionally  close  and 
warm,  and  she  had  opened  all  the  windows  to 
allow  the  mouldy  smell,  which  arose  from  the 
gaping  hole  in  the  floor,  to  escape. 

Some  of  the  windows  were  no  use  as  regarded 
light.  They  were  mere  funnel-shaped  holes 
pierced  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls,  and  in 
ancient  days  had  been  used  for  means  of 
warfare.  From  the  outside  they  were  not 
visible,  owing  to  the  depth  of  the  ivy  which 
hung  over  them. 

The  furniture  in  Margaret's  room  had  been 
disarranged  and  pushed  into  unusual  places 
so  as -to  allow  for  a  clear  space  round  the  hole 
in  the  floor.  Her  work-table  was  pressed 
against  the  wall,  and  her  chair  was  beside  it. 

The  heavy  air  may  have  made  her  feel 
drowsy;  she  was  not  aware  that  her  eyelids 
had  closed  until  she  was  conscious  of  voices 
close  to  her  ear.  The  room  was  empty,  but 
she  realised  at  once  what  had  happened.  She 


In  the  Death  Tower  175 

knew  of  the  bench  leaning  against  the  ivy- 
covered  wall  outside.  Some  person,  or  rather 
persons,  to  judge  from  the  sounds,  were  sitting 
there  talking. 

It  was  not  an  unusual  occurrence.  She 
picked  up  the  work  which  had  dropped  to 
her  lap,  and  prepared  to  go  on  with  her  sewing. 
The  funnel-shaped  hole  was  immediately 
behind  her  head,  and  its  construction  re- 
sembled a  telephone.  Words  spoken  outside 
the  tower  were  conveyed  with  marvellous 
accuracy  to  the  ear  of  the  person  inside  it. 

Margaret  was  a  woman  of  peculiarly  inde- 
pendent character.  In  matters  of  conscience 
she  would  abide  by  her  own  standard  of 
right  or  wrong  unhesitatingly.  At  first  the 
voices  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  did  not 
interest  her,  and  then  she  realised  that  one 
of  the  two  persons  speaking  was  Captain 
Adair.  One  sentence,  then  another,  caught 
her  attention.  Her  work  dropped  unnoticed 
to  her  lap  and  a  curious  light  came  into  her 
eyes.  She  had  grey  eyes  deeply  set  in  her 
head;  they  were  eyes  which  kept  their  own 


176  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

counsel  and  seldom  betrayed  their  owner 's 
confidence. 

Some  people  were  afraid  of  Margaret. 
People  who  had  once  seen  anger  flash  from 
those  grey  eyes  were  careful  not  to  repeat 
the  offence  which  had  called  it  forth. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  she  sat  there, 
quietly  listening  but,  always  as  she  listened 
the  light  deepened  in  her  eyes  and  the  lines 
about  her  mouth  hardened.  Then  she  heard 
a  girl's  voice  calling.  It  was  the  voice  of  the 
young  girl  who  had  come  out  to  find  Mrs. 
Maynard  and  bring  her  in  to  hear  the  story 
of  the  Death  Tower. 

The  voice  rose  again,  and  she  recognised  the 
name  it  was  calling.  She  knew  that  the  two 
people  sitting  on  the  bench  had  heard  it 
also,  and  that  the  call  was  intended  for  one 
of  them. 

It  did  not  serve  her  purpose  to  listen  any 
further;  she  had  heard  enough.  On  the  table 
beside  her  stood  her  work-basket,  some 
books,  and  several  framed  photographs.  She 
picked  up  one  of  the  photographs  and  looked 


In  the  Death  Tower  177 

at  it.  It  represented  a  strongly  built  man,  and 
the  face  was  a  masculine  edition  of  Margaret's. 
The  same  deep-set  eyes,  and  the  same  deter- 
mination of  character  in  the  lines  of  mouth 
and  chin. 

"Davie,"  she  said,  addressing  the  photo- 
graph aloud,  "you  ken,  an'  I  ken,  that  thon 
wuman's  man  has  been  in  his  grave  a  twelve- 
month." 

She  replaced  the  photograph  on  the  table. 

"An'  it 's  her  that  wud  cam  atween  the 
love  o'  husband  an'  wife,  an'  tak'  the  pride 
o'  faitherhood  frae  a  man's  hairt!" 

The  sombre  glow  of  a  great  anger  gathered 
in  her  eyes,  and  they  fell  on  the  gaping  hole 
almost  opening  at  her  feet. 

"Thon  place  is  no  black  enough  for  ye," 
she  said  slowly.  ' '  But  yir  day 's  come !  Ye  're 
foond  oot !  It 's  no  a  bit  man  that 's  agin  ye 
noo,  wha'  ye  can  twist  roond  yir  finger — it 's 
Marget  Robertson! " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  the  echo  of  voices 
and  laughter  came  to  her  from  the  long  stone 
passage  which  led  to  the  wing  of  the  castle 


178  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

where  her  room  was  situated.  The  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  she  heard  Sir  Andrew's 
voice  say : 

"Well,  Margaret,  are  you  here?  I  've 
brought  you  some  visitors." 

Margaret  dropped  the  stately  old-fashioned 
curtsey  with  which  she  always  greeted  her 
master's  guests.  She  was  known  to  most 
of  them,  and  her  individuality  always  com- 
manded a  certain  respect. 

The  party  clustered  round  her,  the  younger 
members  with  eager  questions  on  their  lips, 
and  gazing  down  half  fearfully  at  the  ghastly 
reminder  of  the  old-world  tragedy. 

Any  one  who  was  observing  Margaret 
closely  might  have  noticed  that  more  than 
once  she  looked  towards  the  door  as  though 
expecting  some  one. 

Sir  Andrew's  voice  broke  in  again 

"Ah!  here  is  Mrs.  Maynard  at  last!  We 
were  afraid  that  you  had  lost  your  way  among 
the  ruins,"  he  said  courteously  to  Mrs. 
Maynard  as  she  entered.  "I  don't  know 
whether  you  will  appreciate  this  part  of  the 


In  the  Death  Tower  179 

show, "  he  added.  "It 's  rather  a  chamber  of 
horrors." 

Margaret  looked  past  him  to  the  woman 
who  glided  through  the  open  door.  There 
was  something  in  her  appearance  which  made 
her  stand  out  from  every  other  figure  in  the 
room.  A  subtle  something  which  was  more 
potent  than  her  loveliness. 

Margaret's  eyes  rested  upon  her  for  a  few 
brief  seconds.  Then,  in  her  slow  grave  way, 
she  continued  the  story  which  had  been  inter- 
rupted by  Mrs.  Maynard's  entrance. 

Solemnly,  and  with  a  concentrated  force 
of  dramatic  oratory,  which  startled  even  her 
master,  who  knew  her  so  well,  she  told  the 
story  of  the  Death  Tower  and  its  gruesome 
horrors. 

The  sultryaheat  of  the  afternoon  had  deep- 
ened into  a  heavy  gloom,  and  the  room  seemed 
full  of  shadows  and  lurking  ghosts  of  the  past. 
Margaret  held  her  audience  spell-bound,  hang- 
ing upon  her  every  word  and  gesture. 

Mrs.  Maynard  crept  closer  to  Sir  Andrew, 
and  whispered  that  she  was  frightened,  but 


i8o  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

he  did  not  hear  her.  He  was  absorbed  in 
watching  Margaret's  face.  He  had  never 
heard  her  speak  like  this  before,  and  some  of 
the  tales  she  told  were  unknown  to  him. 

Margaret  never  did  anything  unusual  un- 
less she  had  some  object  in  view.  Why  was 
she  trying  to  frighten  this  group  of  ordi- 
nary everyday  people,  who  were  nothing  to 
her,  and  were  only  bent  on  an  afternoon's 
amusement? 

Sir  Andrew  felt  sometimes  he  would  like 
very  much  to  understand  the  workings  of 
Margaret's  mind. 


CHAPTER  XV 

LADY   BREWSTER   "MOTHERS"   JIM 

TIM  had  followed  Mrs.  Maynard  into  the 
house,  but  when  the  girl  ran  back  to  her 
again  and  claimed  her  attention,  he  fell  a  few 
paces  behind,  and  had  only  gone  a  short 
distance  along  the  stone  passage  which  led 
to  Margaret's  room,  when  he  heard  the 
rustle  of  a  woman's  dress  behind  him  and  a 
soft  voice  calling  him  by  name. 

He  turned  to  find  Lady  Brewster  almost 
running  after  him.  She  was  laughing,  and 
evidently  amused  at  her  own  audacity  in 
stopping  him  so  boldly. 

"You  are  not  to  go  into  that  room,"  she 
said.  "It  is  full  of  horrors:  I  never  go! 
Nothing  would  induce  me  to  cross  the  thres- 
hold, and  you  are  not  to  go  because  you 
are  an  invalid.  Think  of  your  poor  head  if 

181 


182  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

you  tried  to  look  down  into  that  dreadful 
hole." 

Jim  smiled  at  her  earnestness. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  take  care  of  me," 
he  said. 

Sir  Andrew  had  introduced  his  wife  to  Jim 
the  morning  when  he  had  been  allowed  to  go 
into  the  garden  for  the  first  time,  but  Lulu 
had  thought  he  looked  tired  and  ill  and  had 
not  troubled  him  much  with  her  society.  On 
her  return  that  afternoon  she  had  only  found 
time  to  say  a  few  words  of  greeting  to  him 
as  her  other  guests  claimed  her  attention. 

"They  will  stay  in  there  for  some  time," 
she  continued,  nodding  in  the  direction  of  the 
Tower  room.  "And  I  am  dying  for  my  tea — 
simply  dying  for  it.  My  mouth  is  quite 
parched  with  having  to  talk  so  much,  and  I 
hate  long  drives  on  a  hot  day." 

Her  pretty  dark  eyes  were  raised  to  his. 
There  was  not  a  trace  of  coquetry  in  their 
glance. 

"We  will  have  tea  together  by  ourselves," 
she  said.  "I  was  going  to  begin  when  I  saw 


Lady  Brewster  "  Mothers  "  Jim    183 

you  being  carried  off  to  join  the  crowd,  and  I 
thought  it  was  very  bad  for  you,  and  that 
I  would  run  after  you  and  rescue  you." 

She  had  turned,  and,  still  talking  and 
explaining  and  half  scolding  him  in  the  way 
she  had  of  appearing  responsible  when  no 
responsibility  was  required  of  her,  she  led 
the  way  back  into  the  hall. 

"Now  you  are  to  sit  there!"  she  said, 
pointing  to  a  comfortable  seat,  and  settling 
herself  in  a  high-backed  chair  drawn  up  to 
the  tea-table.  "And  you  are  not  to  try  and 
hand  things  and  wait  upon  me,  because  your 
fingers  are  tied  up  in  a  bag  and  you  can't! 
I  shall  butter  your  scone  for  you,  and  cut  it 
up  in  nice  little  bits  just  the  proper  size  for 
your  mouth.  And  do  you  like  both  sugar 
and  cream?  Is  it  good  for  you  to  have  your 
tea  strong?  Weak  tea  is  so  uninteresting. 
The  man  who  took  me  in  to  dinner  last  night 
talked  a  lot  about  food  being  interesting — 
that  it  ought  to  be  interesting!  " 

Lulu  did  not  expect  him  to  join  in  the 
conversation.  She  busied  herself  with  the 


1 84  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

tea-things,  and  her  flow  of  talk  rippled  on 
without  effort. 

Jim  did  not  resent  being  made  to  sit  still 
and  do  nothing.  This  woman  with  her  pretty 
ways  unconsciously  surrounded  him  with  a 
strong  atmosphere  of  home.  He  felt  as  if 
he  had  known  her  for  a  long  time,  and  had 
sat  beside  her  in  that  oak-pannelled  hall  and 
drunk  tea  out  of  those  old-fashioned  green 
and  white  cups  times  without  number.  And 
this  had  been  Nanny's  home  for  the  last  six 
months.  A  feeling  of  profound  gratitude 
welled  up  in  his  heart  at  the  thought  of  it. 
How  good  these  two  people  had  been  to  her 
and  to  the  child.  Anger  against  himself  made 
the  feeling  of  gratitude  positive  pain  to  him. 
When  they  realised  why  he  had  left  her  so 
long  to  the  care  of  strangers;  that  his  pride 
had  warped  his  sense  of  honour  and  duty; 
what  would  be  their  attitude  towards  him? 
he  wondered. 

Of  course  both  Sir  Andrew  and  Lady 
Brewster  must  know  now  who  he  was.  Nanny 
must  have  told  them,  but  they  did  not  know 


Lady  Brews ter  "  Mothers  "  Jim    185 

that  during  their  absence  he  and  Nanny  had 
met.  He  felt  that  he  had  no  right  to  be  sitting 
there  accepting  all  the  little  acts  of  kindness 
which  were  being  showered  upon  him.  He 
was  a  fraud,  and  he  hated  acting  the  part  of 
a  fraud.  Already  he  regretted  having  given 
that  promise  to  Sylvia  Maynard.  Why  had 
he  done  it?  He  ought  to  have  been  in  a 
position  at  that  moment  to  say  to  Lady 
Brewster:  "Everything  has  been  made  right 
between  Nanny  and  myself.  She  is  coming 
back  to  me,"  and  he  could  then  have  thanked 
her  openly  for  all  that  she  and  her  husband 
had  done  for  his  wife  and  child.  One  thing 
he  must  do.  He  must  tell  Lady  Brewster 
that  he  was  aware  of  Nanny's  presence  at 
Pittivie — and  the  sooner  the  better.  In  a 
few  minutes  they  might  be  interrupted  by 
the  return  of  the  rest  of  the  party. 

Lulu  noticed  that  instead  of  eating  the 
squares  of  buttered  scone  she  had  put  on  his 
plate  he  was  playing  with  them. 

"  Do  you  not  like  that?  "  she  asked.  "  Would 
you  rather  have  something  else?" 


1 86  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  said,  and  suddenly 
made  up  his  mind  how  he  was  going  to  get 
out  of  his  difficulty.  He  remembered  Nanny's 
message,  and  how  she  had  worded  it.  Lulu 
would  understand,  she  had  said. 

"Lady  Brewster,"  he  said  looking  her  very 
full  in  the  face,  for  he  also  wished  her  to  under- 
stand. "I  was  asked  to  give  you  a  message. 
Nanny  told  me  to  tell  you  that  she  did  not 
think  she  would  come  in  to  tea.  She  said  you 
would  understand." 

It  was  said  very  abruptly,  and  his  nervous- 
ness in  speaking  was  apparent.  He  saw  Lady 
Brewster's  cheeks  flush,  but  he  could  have 
sworn  that  the  light  which  came  into  her 
eyes  was  gladness,  not  anger. 

She  seemed  uncertain  for  a  moment,  then 
she  exclaimed  quickly: 

"Poor  dear  Nanny,  but  she  must  have 
her  tea.  I  will  tell  them  to  send  it  out 
to  her,"  and  she  jumped^  up  and  rang  the 
bell. 

As  she  sat  down  again  she  sighed. 

"Did  you  hear  that  door  bang  in  the  dis- 


Lady  Brewster  "  Mothers  "  Jim    187 

tance?"  she  asked.  "It  means  that  they  are 
all  coming  back.  Promise — promise  faith- 
fully, that  if  they  begin  to  talk  about  dead 
bones,  and  skeletons,  and  ghosts,  that  you  will 
change  the  conversation  at  once!  You  may 
break  a  tea-cup,  or  upset  a  plate  of  bread  and 
butter,  or  do  anything  you  like,  but  you 
must  n't  let  them  discuss  horrors!" 

1 '  I  promise, ' '  said  Jim.  What  a  nice  woman 
she  was!  She  had  grasped  the  situation  so 
quickly,  and  with  such  delicate  tact.  There 
had  been  no  explanations  necessary.  Every- 
thing had  been  put  on  a  footing  of  friendly 
relationship  without  a  word  of  question.  He 
felt  as  though  a  heavy  weight  had  been  lifted 
off  his  shoulders. 

Lady  Brewster  did  not  see  Nanny  until 
much  later  in  the  evening.  She  had  finished 
dressing  for  dinner,  and  was  fastening  some 
flowers  into  the  front  of  her  dress,  when  her 
door  opened,  and  Nanny  came  in. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  exclaimed, 
running  up  to  her.  "Everyone  has  been 
looking  for  you — every  one! " 


1 88  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  drew  back  at  arm's  length,  and  looked 
at  the  girl. 

"Nanny,"  she  said,  "he  's  a  dear!  Simply 
a  dear,  and  he  's  been  dreadfully  miserable 
and  unhappy.  When  he  gave  me  your  message 
I  'd  liked  to  have  kissed  him — I  really  would. 
He  looked  as  if  he  wanted  being  comforted 
so  badly." 

Nanny  went  rather  pale. 

"I  wasn't  sure  if  you  knew — if — he  had 
given  you  the  message,"  she  faltered.  "I 
thought  perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  I  kept 
out  of  the  way." 

"Why?"  demanded  Lulu.  "Of  course  you 
are  coming  in  to  dinner.  You  have  n't  time 
to  change,  but  never  mind;  you  look  sweet 
in  that  white  frock.  Andrew  knows  about 
Jim!  You  see,  we  've  accepted  him  already 
as  one  of  the  family.  It 's  all  right,"  she  added 
hastily.  "We  had  tea  together — your  Jim 
and  I — all  by  ourselves,  whilst  these  other 
people  were  having  their  blood  curdled  by 
Margaret  in  that  terrible  old  Death  Tower! 
And  we  didn't  have  any  stupid  explanations 


Lady  Brewster  "  Mothers  "  Jim    189 

or  bothers;  but  it's  all  right,  quite  all  right! 
And  he  's  adorable,  Nanny/' 

She  threw  her  arms  round  Nanny's  neck. 

"  I  'm  so  glad,  dear.  I  'm  quite  sure  all  the 
worries  are  at  an  end!  And  now  we  haven't 
time  to  talk  more,  for  there  is  the  gong 
sounding. 

The  small  party  of  four,  seated  round  the 
table  that  evening  in  the  Pittivie  dining- 
room,  was  a  more  cheerful  one  than  it  had 
been  the  night  before,  although  only  two  of 
the  people  present  kept  the  ball  of  conversa- 
tion rolling. 

Sir  Andrew  was  not  a  great  talker  at  any 
time,  but  Nanny  was  not  a  silent  person,  and 
shyness  was  a  complaint  which  never  troubled 
her. 

To-night  she  was  both  shy  and  silent.  She 
was  acutely  conscious  of  the  fact  that  her 
husband  was  sitting  opposite  her.  He  seemed 
to  take  his  place  quite  naturally  in  this  inti- 
mate home  circle,  and  Sir  Andrew  and  Lulu 
were  accepting  his  presence  there  as  a  matter 
of  course.  She  knew  them  so  well,  and  the  way 


190  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

they  accepted  facts  without  inquiring  into 
motives.  They  were  quite  under  the  impres- 
sion that  all  the  trouble  had  been  cleared 
away.  They  would  never  ask  for  an  explana- 
tion unless  it  were  freely  offered  them. 

Surely,  thought  Nanny,  everything  must 
have  gone  right.  Jim  could  not  sit  there  and 
talk  to  Lulu  so  lightly  if  he  still  had  that 
terrible  suspense  hanging  over  him.  The 
worn  look  had  almost  vanished  from  his  face. 
He  had  laughed  more  than  once  at  some 
remark  of  his  hostess's.  It  was  so  good  to 
hear  his  laugh  again.  It  brought  back  the 
sunshine  of  past  days,  and  a  rush  of  gladness 
to  her  heart. 

She  bent  her  head,  because  she  knew  that 
her  eyes  were  wet,  and  she  was  afraid  that  if 
any  one  saw  them  they  might  think  that  she 
was  unhappy ;  and  it  was  quite  the  other  way. 

Lulu  was  explaining  to  Jim,  with  naive 
simplicity  as  to  details,  how  very  uncomfort- 
able it  was  to  be  dressed  in  other  people's 
clothes. 

"You  know,"   she  said,    "when   we    went 


Lady  Brewster  "  Mothers  "  Jim    191 

away  yesterday  we  had  no  intention  of  stay- 
ing the  night,  and  we  had  to  borrow  everything 
— everything!  even  tooth-brushes.  Of  course 
they  were  new  ones!  and  they  smelt  so  of  a 
chemist's  shop,  and  were  so  hard.  Andrew's 
clothes  were  too  small  for  him.  You  see  what 
a  long  back  he  's  got,  and  the  tails  of  his  coat 
began  somewhere  about  his  shoulder-blades. 
Which  do  you  think  makes  a  man  look  most 
sorry  for  himself?  clothes  that  are  too  small 
for  him  or  clothes  that  are  too  big?  And 
if  you  had  only  seen  me!  my  clothes  were 
miles — miles  too  big  for  me!" 

She  threw  out  her  hands  and  embraced  a 
wide  circumference. 

"Andrew,"  she  said,  raising  her  head, 
the  better  to  see  across  the  flowers  on  the 
dinner  table,  "how  much  would  that  woman 
weigh  ?  It  took  eight  safety  pins  to  get  her 
dress  even  to  hang  on  me!  Twelve  stone? 
Now  say  it  was  twelve  stone. " 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  be  sure,  unless  I  had 
her  on  the  weighing-machine,"  answered  Sir 
Andrew,  in  his  grave,  literal  way. 


192  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Lulu  turned  to  Jim  with  a  shrug  of  her 
shoulders. 

"Isn't  he  deliciously  Scotch?"  she  said. 
"You'll  never  get  a  Scotchman  to  make  an 
assertion  unless  he  's  quite,  quite  sure.  I  'm 
not  Scotch.  I  'm  bits  of  all  kinds  of  nation- 
alities. It 's  such  a  comfort  that  I  don't 
require  to  be  cautious." 

Lady  Brewster  did  not  stay  long  in  the 
dining-room  after  dinner  was  over,  and  when 
she  and  Nanny  had  left  the  room,  Sir  Andrew 
and  his  guest,  over  their  coffee  and  cigarettes, 
came  to  an  understanding  of  each  other 
without  many  words  being  spoken. 

It  would  have  been  uncomfortable  for 
either  man  to  have  entered  into  explana- 
tions. Jim's  thanks  for  the  kindness  shown 
to  himself  were  very  sincerely  expressed, 
and  Sir  Andrew  was  equally  sincere  when 
he  said  that  if  the  accident  had  to  happen 
he  was  glad  it  had  happened  at  his  doors 
and  given  him  the  opportunity  of  making 
Jim's  acquaintance. 

To  bring  Nanny's  name  into  the  conversa- 


Lady  Brewster  "  Mothers  "  Jim    193 

tion,  and  to  speak  of  the  enormous  debt  of 
gratitude  under  which  he  lay,  Jim  found  much 
more  difficult. 

"I  would  rather  you  did  not  speak  of  it," 
interrupted  Sir  Andrew,  quietly.  "For,  of 
course,  it  means  that  we  are  going  to  lose  her. 
I  don't  know  which  we  11  feel  parting  with 
most — Nanny  or  the  child.  The  old  place 
will  miss  them  sadly." 

Jim  dropped  the  end  of  his  cigarette  into 
his  plate. 

"  We  have  n't  made  any  definite  plans  yet," 
he  said  hesitatingly.  "Would  you  mind  if 
I  left  them  here  for — say  a  week,  and  then 
came  back  again?" 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Sir  Andrew,  and  he 
rose  from  the  table  as  he  spoke.  "I  won't 
keep  you  any  longer.  Go  and  find  her,  and 
settle  your  plans  your  own  way,"  and  he 
laid  his  hand  kindly  on  the  younger  man's 
shoulder  as  they  left  the  room  together. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   RIBBON   ROUND  A  LOCK   OF   HAIR 

HPHE  night  was  as  close  and  sultry  as  the 
day  had  been,  and  all  the  doors  and 
windows  were  thrown  wide  open.  Jim  stood 
irresolute  for  a  few  moments  in  the  hall, 
uncertain  what  to  do.  There  was  no  sign 
of  his  hostess  anywhere,  and  Sir  Andrew, 
saying  that  he  had  not  had  time  yet  to  look 
at  his  correspondence,  disappeared  in  the 
direction  of  his  study. 

Jim  went  over  to  the  hall  door  and  looked 
out.  It  was  not  exactly  dark,  but  the  night 
was  thick  and  heavily  clouded,  and  the 
gloaming  was  closing  in. 

He  walked  through  the  porch,  and  a  few 
steps  down  the  narrow  pathway,  which  was 
bordered  on  each  side  by  hedges  of  boxwood, 

and  then  stood  still  and  listened.    Not  a  sound 

194 


A  Ribbon  round  a  Lock  of  Hair  195 

broke  the  silence.  The  flash-light  from  the 
Mary  Isle  swept  at  intervals  across  the  dark 
surface  of  the  water,  which  looked  black  and 
oily  in  its  almost  unnatural  calm,  for  on  that 
rugged  coast  the  voice  of  the  sea  is  seldom 
silent. 

He  leant  forward  a  little,  and  watched  for 
the  next  flash  to  gleam  on  the  low  stone  wall 
which  hung  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Yes! 
his  eyesight  seldom  played  him  false,  even 
in  the  dusk.  He  saw  a  white  figure  distinctly 
and  he  walked  straight  towards  it. 

Nanny  knew  that  he  would  come  to  look 
for  her,  and  she  had  no  intention  of  hiding 
herself.  She  was  waiting  for  him,  and  she  had 
been  listening  to  the  faintest  sounds  of  move- 
ment in  the  house.  In  the  intense  silence 
the  slightest  noise  carried  easily.  She  had 
heard  the  dining-room  door  open;  she  had 
seen  Jim  come  out  into  the  porch;  the  outline 
of  his  figure  was  clearly  defined  against  the 
light  which  streamed  from  behind  him,  and 
she  knew  when  he  first  caught  sight  of  her. 

As  she  saw  him  coming  towards  her,  she 


196  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

fought  wildly  with  the  feeling  of  suffocation 
which  was  catching  at  her  throat.  It  was 
squeezing  the  breath  out  of  her,  and  she 
wondered  if  it  would  allow  her  to  utter  a 
single  word. 

She  felt  him  touch  her  dress,  and  then  stand 
quite  still.  So  still  that  she  could  hear  the 
sound  of  his  breathing.  It  came  quickly  and 
irregularly.  She  knew  he  was  fighting  down 
some  strong  emotion,  and  her  heart  went  out 
impulsively  to  meet  the  words  which  she 
knew  hovered  on  his  lips. 

She  felt  for  his  hand  in  the  darkness,  and 
drew  him  close  to  her.  The  wall  was  flat  and 
broad,  and  only  raised  about  two  feet  above 
the  ground  at  the  place  where  she  was  sitting. 
She  drew  him  down,  down,  until  he  was  close 
beside  her. 

"Jim,"  she  whispered.  "It's  all  right,  I 
know  it  is.  Something  tells  me  it  is.  She 
has  let  you  go?  Perhaps  I  wronged  her. 
She  has  given  you  your  release?  Whatever 
the  promise  was  which  bound  you,  has  been 
taken  back?" 


A  Ribbon  round  a  Lock  of  Hair    197 

"Yes — she  has  given  me  my  release — she 
— has  let  me  go,"  he  answered  huskily. 

With  a  little  sob  of  gladness  Nanny  put  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder.  She  gave  a  long  sigh,  like  that  of 
a  tired  child  who  has  found  the  resting-place 
it  longs  for. 

"I  am  so  happy.  You  are  happy  too, 
aren't  you?"  she  said  softly.  "Are  you  so 
happy  that  you  can't  speak  Jim?" 

She  was  content  to  lie  still.  It  was  enough 
to  know  that  it  was  Jim's  shoulder  she  was 
leaning  against. 

But  his  arm  did  not  tighten  round  her,  and 
he  did  not  attempt  to  kiss  her.  Perhaps  he 
was  thinking  of  the  night  before,  when  he  had 
taken  her  by  surprise,  and  he  had  thought  she 
was  angry,  and  she  had  run  away  from  him.  It 
was  different  now;  surely  he  must  know  that? 

She  moved  her  head,  so  that  she  could  look 
up  at  him. 

"Is  it  because  you  are  so  happy  that  you 
cannot  speak?"  she  repeated,  murmuring  the 
words  low  in  his  ear. 


198  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  beacon  light  flashed  for  a  second  across 
his  face  and  she  saw  it  distinctly.  It  showed 
that  he  was  still  in  the  grasp  of  some  struggle, 
but  at  her  touch  the  lines  about  his  mouth 
grew  more  set. 

He  tried  to  disengage  her  arms  from  about 
his  neck,  but  she  would  not  raise  her  head. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  she  pleaded.  "Are 
you  going  to  give  me  reasons  and  explana- 
tions?" The  old  impetuous  Nanny  came 
back,  and  she  exclaimed  vehemently.  "I 
don't  want  them!  I  won't  have  them!  I 
told  you  I  did  n't  want  them.  I  told  you  it 
was  enough  for  me  to  know  that  she  was  to 
go  out  of  your  life,  and  that  you  were  never  to 
see  or  hear  of  her  again.  And  you  say  that 
it  is  to  be  so.  I  do  not  ask  for  anything  more. ' ' 

For  one  brief  moment  he  held  her  to  him 
very  tightly,  and  then  put  her  away  with  a 
firmness  she  could  not  resist. 

"You  are  very  generous,"  he  said.  "Far 
more  generous  than  I  deserve.  But  there  is 
something  I  must  tell  you.  I  am  free  in  one 
sense,  but  I  am  still  bound  by  a  certain  con- 


A  Ribbon  round  a  Lock  of  Hair   199 

dition.  I  don't  know  whether  I  did  right  in 
giving  in  to  it.  It 's  been  worrying  me  all 
the  evening.  I  had  hoped  to  have  been  able 
to  tell  you  the  whole  story  at  once  and  have 
done  with  it,  but— 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"She  asked  me  to  wait  for  a  week.  And 
— I  said  I  would.  There  are  things  you  must 
be  told.  Your  consent  on  a  certain  subject 
is  necessary;  and  I  must  be  able  to  tell  you 
everything." 

Nanny  turned  her  head  away  from  him. 

"Is  it  necessary  to  tell  me  things?  I  trust 
you." 

She  was  making  it  very  hard  for  him — much 
harder  than  she  knew.  The  same  feeling 
was  on  him  now;  stinging  him  with  its  sense 
of  humiliation,  which  had  made  him  drop  the 
little  harebell  wreath  from  his  fingers  as  though 
it  burnt  them. 

"I  don't  feel  as  if  I  had  the  right  to  touch 
you,  or  accept  the  love  you  offer  me,  so  long 
as  there  is  a  thought  in  my  heart  you  cannot 
share,"  he  said. 


200  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  still  kept  her  head  turned  from  him. 

"A  whole  week!"  he  heard  her  murmur. 
"A  whole  week,  and  to  see  him  every  day!" 

He  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment  on  hers,  and 
then  withdrew  it  quickly. 

"I  am  going  away,"  he  said.  "I  shall  go 
to-morrow,  and  come  back  when  the  time  is 


over." 


She  leant  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  and  sat 
for  a  long  time  without  stirring. 

"I  must  go  away,"  he  repeated  a  little 
unsteadily.  "  Don't  you  see  that?  " 

"When  do  you  go?"  she  asked,  and  her 
voice  sounded  very  toneless. 

"As  early  as  I  can.  I  've  told  your  cousin 
I  'm  going.  He  understands — all  there  is  to 
understand,  at  least." 

"To-morrow  's  Sunday,"  said  Nanny, 
quickly. 

"It  can  be  managed,"  said  Jim,  doggedly. 
"I've  looked  it  all  up." 

Nanny  rose  abruptly. 

"We  will  go  in, "  she  said.  "  It  makes  it  so 
difficult  when  there's  nothing  more  to  say." 


A  Ribbon  round  a  Lock  of  Hair  201 

He  followed  her  up  the  pathway,  and  did 
not  speak  until  they  came  within  the  circle 
of  light  which  lit  up  the  porch. 

"I  suppose  the  child  's  asleep?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  hours  ago,"  she  answered  listlessly. 

"May  I  see  her?"  he  asked.  "There  may 
not  be  an  opportunity  in  the  morning  if  I  go 
early." 

She  flushed  and  looked  undecided.  Then 
she  made  a  gesture  of  assent,  and  walking 
before  him,  led  the  way  up  the  narrow  wind- 
ing staircase  towards  the  nursery. 

The  door  stood  ajar,  and  Margaret  was 
sitting  in  a  low  chair  by  the  child's  cot.  A 
shaded  light  was  on  the  table  beside  her,  but 
her  hands  were  folded  idly  on  her  lap,  which 
was  unusual. 

She  rose  at  once  when  she  saw  who  stood 
in  the  doorway,  and  left  the  room  quietly. 

Nanny  went  over  to  the  table  and  moved 
the  lamp  so  that  it  would  throw  more  light 
on  the  sleeping  child,  without  shining  on  its 
face,  and  drew  back  into  the  shadow. 

She  wondered  what  he  would  do.     The 


202  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

little  mop  of  brown  curls  was  turned  away 
from  him.  The  night  was  very  warm,  and 
both  the  baby  arms  were  thrown  out  across 
the  coverlet.  The  outline  of  the  flushed  cheek 
and  the  upward  curve  of  the  eyelashes  showed 
clearly  against  the  whiteness  of  the  pillow. 

She  saw  him  bend  over  almost  to  the  level 
of  the  cot,  and  she  thought  he  was  going  to 
kiss  one  of  the  soft  little  arms  just  where  the 
dimple  showed  at  the  curve  of  the  wrist. 
Perhaps  he  was,  but  he  drew  himself  up 
sharply,  and  stood  motionless,  looking  down 
on  the  sleeping  face. 

Nanny  saw  his  lips  move,  and  then  he 
turned  away  and  went  towards  the  door. 

She  caught  up  something  from  the  table, 
which  glistened  in  her  hand  under  the  light, 
and  leaning  over  the  child,  she  snipped  off 
one  of  the  tiny  brown  curls. 

A  piece  of  ribbon  lay  on  the  table,  and  she 
picked  it  up  hurriedly. 

Jim  had  reached  the  door.  Another  second 
and  he  would  have  passed  through  it,  when 
he  felt  that  she  was  standing  beside  him.  He 


A  Ribbon  round  a  Lock  of  Hair   203 

looked  down  and  saw  what  she  held  in  her 
hand.  She  was  twisting  the  ribbon  round 
the  lock  of  hair. 

"Keep  it,"  she  whispered,  thrusting  it  into 
the  breast  of  his  coat.  " Don't  let  it  be  taken 
away  from  you. " 

The  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks. 

"Go,"  she  said,  but  as  he  did  not  move  she 
pushed  him  from  her  with  both  hands.  "  Go," 
she  repeated,  and  slipping  back  into  the  room, 
she  closed  the  door  noiselessly  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JIM'S   DEPARTURE 

DEFORE  he  left  Pittivie,  Jim  bade  a  special 
farewell  to  Margaret,  and  he  made  a 
point  of  finding  her  alone  at  the  time. 

He  had  grown  very  fond  of  his  nurse  during 
his  illness.  Margaret  was  a  person  who  in- 
spired confidence  in  the  minds  of  those  with 
whom  she  came  into  personal  contact. 

She  had  contrived  for  him  a  wonderful 
kind  of  glove,  which  was  to  take  the  place  of 
the  bandages  in  which  his  injured  hand  had 
been  swathed,  and  he  was  amused  at  the 
critical  interest  she  took  in  the  result  of  her 
work  when  she  saw  it  in  use  for  the  first 
time. 

"I  can  see  that  I  have  fingers  now,"  he 

said  smiling.    "Rather  of  the  gate-post  order, 

204 


Jim's  Departure  205 

but  there  's  some  feeling  in  them,"  and  he 
tried  to  move  his  fingers  backwards  and 
forwards. 

He  had  said  good-bye  and  was  turning 
away,  when  he  hesitated. 

"You  will  take  care  of  them  for  me — won't 
you,  Margaret?"  he  said,  looking  into  the 
deep-set  eyes. 

Margaret  did  not  require  to  ask  what  he 
meant  by  ' '  them  " ! 

"Ye  needna'  fear,"  she  answered  quietly. 
"I  '11  take  care  o'  them,  till  ye  come 
back." 

Then  she  added,  as  though  an  idea  had 
suddenly  occurred  to  her: 

"Ye  11  have  left  yir  address  wi'  Sir  Andry 
• — nae  doot?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jim.  "  I  Ve  left  my  address. 
I  shall  be  in  London." 

"Maybe  ye  wouldna'  mind  leavin'  it  wi' 
me  forbye,"  she  suggested. 

"Certainly;  I  should  like  you  to  have 
it,"  and  taking  the  piece  of  paper  she 
brought  to  him  he  scribbled  down  as  well 


2o6  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

as  he  could  the  name  and  address  of  his 
London  Club. 

"There,"  he  said;  "that  will  find  me," 
and  the  next  minute  he  was  gone. 

Life  at  Pittivie  settled  back  again  so  quietly 
into  its  usual  routine  after  Jim's  departure, 
that  by  the  end  of  the  first  day  Nanny  found 
herself  wondering  if  all  that  had  come  and 
gone  had  not  been  a  dream. 

She  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep  that  night 
after  she  had  said  good-bye  to  him;  but  she 
was  young,  and  her  spirits  had  the  elasticity 
of  youth.  A  kind  of  restless  excitement 
impelled  her  to  throw  herself  into  whatever 
came  uppermost  to  do.  A  week  was  not  such 
a  very  long  time.  It  could  be  counted  by 
hours  easily.  By  Monday  morning  the  rest- 
less mood  had  passed  into  a  calmer  one  of 
settled  expectancy. 

After  lunch  Lulu  retired  to  her  own  room 
with  a  novel.  She  had  given  herself  a  head- 
ache picking  flowers  in  the  garden  in  the  sun 
without  a  hat,  and  declared  her  intention  of 
not  appearing  again  until  tea-time;  and  Sir 


Jim's  Departure  207 

Andrew  had  started  off  to  walk  to  an  out- 
lying part  of  the  estate  to  watch  the  progress 
of  his  harvesting. 

Nanny  had  the  house  to  herself,  and  in  her 
present  mood  the  rest  and  peace  of  its  old- 
world  quiet  was  exactly  what  she  desired 
most.  She  wandered  into  the  drawing-room, 
which  faced  south  and  looked  out  across  the 
water,  and  chose  a  chair  where  the  breeze 
would  blow  in  on  her  through  the  open 
window.  It  must  be  low  tide,  she  thought, 
"because  the  smell  of  the  sea-weed  mingled 
with  the  scent  of  newly  cut  grass.  She  heard 
the  whirr  and  rattle  of  the  grass  machine  as 
it  was  rolled  backwards  and  forwards.  She 
knew  by  the  direction  whence  the  sound  came 
that  they  were  cutting  the  strip  of  grass  by 
the  low  wall  where  she  and  Jim  had  sat  the 
night  before  he  left. 

He  had  never  been  out  of  her  thoughts 
for  a  moment.  That  briny  smell  of  the  sea 
brought  back  the  memory  of  all  kinds  of 
incidents,  connected  with  their  wandering 
life  abroad,  with  startling  distinctness.  Those 


208  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

two  first  years  of  happiness  after  her  marriage 
were  all  bound  up  with  associations  of  the 
sea.  The  big  white  yacht  had  been  the 
happiest  home  she  had  ever  known,  and  they 
had  roamed  from  place  to  place  wherever 
their  fancy  took  them. 

She  lay  back  against  the  cushions  and  shut 
her  eyes.  She  wanted  to  dream  what  it 
would  be  like  to  live  that  life  over  again. 

What  would  he  do?  she  wondered,  when 
he  came  back.  The  warm  colour  crept  up 
into  her  cheeks.  He  would  take  them  both 
away  at  once,  she  felt  quite  sure  of  that.  He 
would  want  them  all  to  himself,  and  she  knew 
she  would  give  him  his  own  way  in  everything. 
Whatever  he  said  would  be  sure  to  be  right. 
Perhaps  he  had  sent  orders  for  the  yacht  to 
come  north,  and  they  would  vanish  away 
into  a  world  of  their  own,  as  they  had  done 
before,  when  they  had  started  on  their  two 
years'  honeymoon.  That  letter  of  Captain 
Cragg's  which  she  had  read — and  she  felt 
hot  at  the  recollection  of  the  pocket-book, 
and  how  she  had  treated  it — implied  that  the 


Jim's  Departure  209 

Katinata  was  not  to  be  laid  up  after  her  long 
cruise.  He  had  mentioned  some  repairs  which 
were  being  hurried  on  as  quickly  as  possible. 
That  looked  as  though  she  were  to  be  made 
fit  to  start  again  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Nanny  opened  her  eyes,  and  they  rested  on 
the  broad  stretch  of  the  blue  Firth  shimmering 
and  sparkling  in  the  sunshine.  If  she  watched 
carefully,  she  might  one  day  see  the  Katinata 
pass  up  on  her  way  to  some  sheltered  anchor- 
age. She  would  recognise  her  easily  if  she 
did  not  keep  far  out.  So  few  yachts  passed 
along  that  coast;  it  was  too  unprotected  to 
appeal  to  the  ordinary  yachtsman,  unless 
some  special  object  drew  him  to  its  shores. 

She  shut  her  eyes  again,  and  went  back  to 
her  dreams.  Her  vivid  imagination  was  so 
busy  with  them  that  she  did  not  pay  attention 
to  any  sounds  of  movement  about  the  house. 
Callers  were  not  frequent  at  Pittivie,  and  she 
roused  herself  with  a  start  when  the  door  was 
thrown  open  and  the  servant  announced  a 
name  which  fell  on  her  ears  with  the  stupefy- 
ing effect  of  a  sudden  shock. 
14 


210  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  warm  air  blowing  through  the  open 
window  pierced  her  like  a  chill  draught  as 
she  watched  Mrs.  Maynard  walk  up  the  long 
room.  She  did  not  rise  from  her  chair,  she 
did  not  know  whether  she  could  have  done 
so  if  she  had  tried,  and  Mrs.  Maynard  this 
time  made  no  attempt  at  holding  out  her 
hand. 

She  walked  slowly,  with  her  usual  languid 
grace,  and  sinking  into  a  seat  quite  close  to 
Nanny's  looked  at  her  without  speaking. 

It  was  the  look  of  a  trapper,  who  for  some 
purpose  of  his  own  has  caught  a  live  animal 
in  his  net.  She  was  neither  hurried  nor  excited 
for  she  had  discovered  by  a  few  cleverly-put 
questions  to  the  servant,  who  answered  the 
door  to  her,  that  Mrs.  Adair  was  alone;  and 
it  had  been  very  simple  to  imply  that  her 
visit  concerned  Mrs.  Adair  principally  and 
not  Lady  Brewster. 

Sylvia  Maynard  was  a  desperate  woman, 
and  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  use  desperate 
means  to  gain  her  ends;  but  she  retained 
perfect  control  over  her  manner,  and  nothing 


Jim's  Departure  211 

was  visible  of  the  passion  of  rage  and  terror 
which  surged  within  her. 

It  was  not  conscience  which  troubled  her. 
She  had  not  been  aware  of  possessing  one  for 
so  long  that  it  had  ceased  to  have  any  mean- 
ing for  her.  It  was  the  blind  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,  which  swallowed  up  every  other 
consideration.  The  sensuous  pleasures  of 
life,  which  were  the  only  things  she  cared  for, 
were  to  be  torn  from  her.  Disgrace  and  ruin 
stared  her  in  the  face.  Her  one  hope  of  escape 
lay  in  the  use  she  was  able  to  make  of  the 
chance  of  finding  Nanny  alone  and  unpro- 
tected. The  ground  would  be  cut  away  from 
under  her  feet  the  moment  Nanny  knew  by 
what  a  flimsy  thread  she  had  held  her  power 
over  Jim,  and  discovery  of  her  treachery- 
would  follow  swiftly  on  Jim's  explanation; 
for  he  would  find  out  that  he  had  been  the 
dupe  of  a  sordid  plot  to  extract  money  out  of 
him  under  false  pretences.  She  was  practi- 
cally a  criminal,  and  the  terrors  of  the  law  held 
all  the  more  awful  possibilities  to  her  because 
she  was  very  ignorant  concerning  its  powers. 


212  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  two  women  faced  each  other  silently. 
The  blood  began  to  tingle  through  Nanny's 
veins.  She  was  not  a  patient  person,  and  she 
did  not  know  how  to  play  a  waiting  game. 
She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Why  have  you  come  here?"  she  asked. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

YOU  ARE  NOT  SPEAKING  THE  TRUTH 

JWIRS.  MAYNARD  felt  that  her  luck  was 

following  her.     She  had  found  Nanny 

alone;  she  was  now  scoring  a  second  point 

in  making  her  speak  first,  and  the  question 

gave  her  the  opening  she  desired. 

"Because  there  are  some  things  which  I 
have  to  say  to  you,"  she  said.  "I  think 
it  is  only  right  that  you  should  know  of 
them." 

Nanny  returned  her  look  without  flinching. 

"I  will  not  hear  them  from  you,"  she  said. 
"Whatever  it  is  that  is  necessary  for  me  to 
know  will  be  told  me  by  my  husband. " 

Mrs.  Maynard  turned  her  head  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  The  action  implied  that 
if  possible  she  wished  to  spare  the  listener's 
feelings.  She  let  her  words  fall  slowly  from 

213 


214  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

her  lips,  distinct  and  clear  as  raindrops  fall- 
ing from  a  window-sash  after  a  summer 
shower. 

"You  will  not  hear  the  story  as  you  ought 
to  be  told  it.  He  will  tell  you  of  things  which 
happened  long  ago.  It  will  be  all  quite  true, 
but  he  will  not  tell  you  of  things  which  have 
happened  in  those  latter  years — since — his 
marriage.  He  wants  you  to  go  back  to  him, 
I  know.  He  will  not  tell  you  the  whole  truth. 
He  dare  not.  If  he  did,  you  would  never  go 
back  to  him  as  his  wife." 

Nanny  put  her  fingers  in  between  the  collar 
of  her  thin  silk  shirt  and  her  neck  to  loosen 
the  tightness.  It  felt  as  if  it  were  choking  her. 

How  dare  the  woman  speak  to  her  like  that? 
She  was  so  angry  that  she  could  hardly  keep 
her  voice  steady  when  she  answered. 

"You  are  not  telling  the  truth.  I  do  not 
believe  what  you  say  for  a  single  moment." 

Mrs.  Maynard  looked  at  her  quietly.  There 
was  something  horrible  in  the  quietness  of  her 
manner. 

"Why   has   he   gone   away?"    she   asked, 


You  Are  Not  Speaking  the  Truth  215 

"for  they  told  me  at  the  door  that  he  had 
left  two  days  ago." 

Nanny  was  thrown  off  her  guard.  The 
question  was  so  simple. 

"  Because  you  made  him  give  that  promise 
— that  promise  to  keep  silent  for  a  week. 
You  had  no  right  to  ask  such  a  thing  of  him," 
she  concluded  hotly. 

The  demon  of  luck  seemed  to  be  dogging 
Mrs.  Maynard's  every  word.  Each  move  in 
the  game  she  was  playing  had  been  a  random 
shot.  She  did  not  know  from  one  moment  to 
another  what  chance  would  throw  into  her 
hands. 

She  gazed  at  Nanny  wonderingly. 

"I  made  him  give  a  promise?  What 
promise?  I  do  not  understand." 

"You  understand  perfectly  well,"  retorted 
Nanny.  She  leant  forward,  holding  one  hand 
tightly  over  the  other.  She  was  in  a  white 
heat  of  anger.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to  keep 
her  fingers  locked  together.  She  longed  to 
tear  something;  to  rend  asunder  the  veil  of 
deceit  which  was  being  woven  before  her  eyes. 


2i 6  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"You  need  not  try  to  blind  me,"  she  con- 
tinued rapidly.  "You  never  have  blinded 
me.  I  have  known  you  for  what  you  are 
from  the  very  first  minute  I  saw  you.  You 
have  blinded  Jim.  You  have  worked  on  him 
through  his  generosity  and  his  chivalry,  and 
some  mistaken  idea  of  honour  which  you  have 
done  your  best  to  dishonour.  He  pledged 
me  his  word  here — in  this  house,  only  three 
days  ago,  that  he  had  never  wronged  me  in 
thought  or  in  deed,  and  I  told  him  that  I 
believed  him.  Unless  he  stands  before  me, 
and  I  hear  him  confess  with  his  own  lips  that 
what  he  said  was  a  lie,  I  will  not  take  your 
word  against  his.  You  do  not  know  what 
truth  is.  Jim  has  never  told  a  lie.  He  could 
not!" 

She  leant  back  breathless  against  the  cush- 
ions of  her  chair.  She  felt  that  she  was 
shaking  all  over,  but  her  eyes  were  as  steady 
as  before,  and  they  never  left  Mrs.  Maynard's 
face  for  a  moment.  She  saw  her-  pass  her 
handkerchief  over  her  mouth  and  go  as  white 
as  the  lace  at  her  throat. 


You  Are  Not  Speaking  the  Truth    217 

Nanny  had  said  her  say.  She  vowed 
inwardly  that  she  would  not  utter  another 
word  in  her  husband's  defence.  It  was 
unworthy  of  her  trust  in  him  to  stoop  to 
vindicate  his  honour.  Why  did  the  woman 
stay?  she  asked  herself.  How  could  she,  after 
listening  to  what  she  had  told  her?  Was  she 
lost  to  all  sense  of  shame  and  decency?  She 
would  give  her  two  minutes.  If  she  did  not 
leave  the  room  of  her  own  accord  by  then,  she 
would  ring  the  bell  and  order  her  to  be  shown 
out.  She  glanced  at  the  little  gold  clock  on 
the  mantelpiece.  Two  minutes — not  a  second 
longer,  and  she  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap 
and  waited. 

Mrs.  Maynard  played  her  last  card.  She 
knew  it  was  her  last  and  her  strongest,  and 
she  laid  it  down,  still  with  that  horrible 
quietness  in  her  manner  which  had  character- 
ised each  move  of  her  game. 

"  If  you  go  back  to  him,  you  will  find  out  the 
truth  sooner  or  later.  It  is  kinder  to  tell  you 
now,  so  that  you  may  be  spared  the  pain  of 
having  to  leave  him  a  second  time.  For  three 


218  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

years  before  your  husband  married  you — and 
ever  since — he  has  paid  me  a  settled  income." 

She  glanced  down  at  her  dress.  Its  elabo- 
rate simplicity  in  no  way  disguised  the  fact 
of  its  costliness. 

"He  is  not  a  man  who  does  things  by 
halves,"  she  murmured.  "What  he  gives  he 
does  not  give  grudgingly,"  and  she  raised  her 
head  and  watched  the  effect  of  her  words. 

No  woman,  she  argued  to  herself,  could  be 
so  besottedly  in  love  with  a  man  as  to  allow 
a  confession  such  as  she  had  just  made  to  pass 
unchallenged.  Nanny's  expression  baffled 
her.  Her  eyes  were  widely  opened  and  fixed 
full  upon  her,  but  not  a  shadow  of  doubt 
blurred  their  clearness. 

"You  are  not  speaking  the  truth,"  she 
said,  without  a  tremor  in  her  voice.  That 
one  sentence  kept  repeating  itself  over  and 
over  again  in  the  girl's  brain.  She  prayed 
that  her  senses  would  not  play  her  false  and 
that  that  one  sentence  would  remain  fixed  as 
an  anchor  of  safety  to  hold  by  till  the  strain 
was  over. 


You  Are  Not  Speaking  the  Truth  219 

Mrs.  Maynard  allowed  something  of  her 
guarded  control  to  slip  from  her.  It  was  not 
that  she  felt  that  she  had  failed,  but  the 
moment  had  come  when  a  display  of  feeling 
might  help  her  cause. 

"I  would  spare  you  if  I  could.  Am  I  not 
humbling  myself  in  the  dust  to  make  you  see 
the  truth?"  she  cried  brokenly.  "Why  has 
he  left  you?  Why  did  he  say  that  I  had  sent 
him  from  you?  What  reason  can  he  have  for 
wishing  for  a  week's  delay?  Do  you  not  see? 
Do  you  not  understand  the  struggle  which 
must  be  going  on  in  his  mind?" 

Nanny's  face  was  set  like  a  flint.  She  felt 
like  an  automaton  that  could  only  say  one 
sentence  intelligibly. 

"You  are  not  speaking  the  truth,"  she 
repeated.  She  knew  that  she  uttered  the 
words  but  it  was  only  a  mechanical  action  of 
the  brain  which  prompted  the  sound  of  speech. 

"And  you  will  not  be  saved?"  murmured 
Mrs.  Maynard  mournfully.  "I  have  done  all 
that  I  could.  My  humiliation  has  been  in 
vain?" 


22o  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  drew  her  handkerchief  backwards  and 
forwards  through  her  ringers  and  she  looked 
down  at  the  folds  of  her  dress  which  lay  on 
the  carpet  beside  her  chair. 

"  You  say  that  you  do  not  believe  me.  My 
words  fail  to  convince  you — but  his  words? 
Could  you  disbelieve  them?  His  own  written 
words.  His  letters  to  me  for  the  past  six 
years.  I  have  not  parted  with  one  of  them. 
I  could  not  have  borne  to  destroy  them." 

She  clasped  her  hands  convulsively  and 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  He  always  wrote  to  me  himself.  What  he 
did  for  me,  he  did  of  his  own  free  will.  He 
gave  willingly  and  ungrudgingly.  I  have  it 
in  his  own  words." 

She  dropped  her  voice  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"No  eyes  but  mine  have  ever  been  per- 
mitted to  see  these  letters,  but  if  nothing  else 
will  convince  you  of  the  terrible  mistake  you 
will  make  if  you  allow  yourself  to  be  blinded 
to  the  duty  you  owe  to  yourself  and  your 
child,  then  I  will  show  them  to  you.  You  can 
judge  him  by  the  evidence  of  your  own  sight. " 


You  Are  Not  Speaking  the  Truth    221 

At  the  mention  of  the  child's  name  Nanny's 
face  changed.  The  strong  primal  instinct  of 
motherhood,  which  teaches  a  woman  that 
love  for  her  child  is  a  thing  which  belongs 
to  the  holiest  part  of  her  nature,  had  never 
been  thoroughly  roused  until  that  moment. 
It  rushed  into  being  with  a  strength  which 
frightened  her. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  A  flood  of  crimson 
staining  her  white  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  blazing. 

That  woman  to  take  her  child's  name  on 
her  lips !  If  she  stayed  in  the  same  room  with 
her  for  another  moment  she  knew  that  she 
would  not  be  responsible  for  what  she  did. 

She  walked  quickly  across  to  the  bell  and 
put  her  hand  on  it.  She  did  not  ring  it.  She 
stood  with  her  back  to  it,  and  her  other  hand 
pointing  towards  the  door. 

"If  you  do  not  go  this  very  instant,  I  will 
have  you  turned  out  of  the  house, "  she  said. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  risen  at  the  same  time  as 
Nanny  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  she  felt 
herself  quail  mentally  and  bodily  before  the 
look  in  the  girl's  eyes.  She  tried  to  gather 


222  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

herself  together  and  draw  round  her  a  rem- 
nant of  dignity  as  she  walked  up  the  long 
room,  but  it  was  a  failure.  She  had  very 
nearly  reached  the  door  and  was  putting  out 
her  hand  to  open  it,  when  Nanny's  voice 
rang  out  sharply. 

"Stop,"  she  cried;  "come  back."  And 
though  it  was  torture  to  have  to  face  the 
scorn  and  contempt  of  the  woman  she  hated, 
a  power  stronger  than  she  could  resist  forced 
Sylvia  Maynard  to  turn  and  retrace  her  steps. 

Nanny's  words  cut  clear  and  incisive. 

"You  have  shamed  yourself  to  no  purpose. 
I  do  not  believe  in  the  charge  you  bring  against 
my  husband.  He  has  given  me  his  word  that 
he  is  innocent  of  all  wrong  towards  me.  I 
will  take  his  word,  not  yours. " 

As  she  finished  speaking  her  hand  tightened 
over  the  handle  of  the  bell  and  she  rang  it 
peremptorily. 

Mrs.  Maynard  remained  standing  where 
she  was.  She  tried  to  speak  and  could  not. 
She  tried  to  move,  but  her  limbs  failed  her. 
That  stern  young  figure  in  the  black  dress, 


You  Are  Not  Speaking  the  Truth    223 

drawn  rigidly  up  against  the  panelled  wall, 
and  the  contempt  in  the  clear  eyes  held  her 
fixed  to  the  spot. 

Steps  sounded,  coming  rapidly  across  the 
hall,  and  the  servant  who  had  answered  the 
door  a  short  time  before  entered. 

She  looked  a  little  flurried.  The  bell  had 
rung  with  such  violence  that  she  thought 
something  unusual  must  have  happened. 

"Mrs.  Maynard's  carriage,"  said  Nanny, 
and  without  waiting  to  see  how  Mrs.  Maynard 
took  herself  out  of  the  room,  she  walked  back 
to  her  chair  by  the  window. 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  there  looking  out 
blankly  in  front  of  her.  She  heard  a  voice 
speaking,  and  recognised,  without  any  surprise 
that  it  was  her  own,  and  that  she  was  talking 
to  herself. 

"I  defied  her  to  the  very  last,"  she  heard 
herself  say.  "She  has  gone  away  knowing 
that  I  do  not  believe  her.  I  did  not  give  in 
to  one  single  thing.  I  told  her  from  the  very 
beginning  to  the  very  end  that  she  was  telling 
lies." 


224  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  her  face.  She 
crouched  back  in  her  chair. 

"Am  I  so  very  sure?"  and  she  moved  her 
head  restlessly  like  a  person  in  pain. 

"Jim,  Jim,  why  did  you  go  away?  Why 
did  you  leave  me  at  her  mercy?  What  made 
you  promise  to  keep  silence  for  a  week?" 

Her  voice  ceased,  and  then  went  on  again 
wearily. 

"Did  she  make  him  give  that  promise? 
Was  she  speaking  the  truth  or  a  lie  when  she 
said  she  did  not  know  what  I  meant?  Only 
three  days  gone!  Four  days  yet  to  come  and 
go  before  I  see  him  again  and  know  what  it  is 
that  he  has  to  tell  me!  Will  my  trust  in  him 
last  out  the  time?  Every  word  she  has  said 
will  come  back  and  torture  me  day  and  night. 
I  know  they  will.  The  hateful,  horrible  words 
are  creeping  back  now.  Why  did  he  leave 
me?  Why,  why?"  she  repeated  helplessly. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  COMPROMISING  PARASOL 

A  N  hour  or  so  later,  when  Lady  Brewster 

came  into  the  drawing-room  she  found 

Nanny  still  sitting  in  the  chair  by  the  window. 

"I  believe  you  've  been  asleep,"  she  said, 
bending  over  her.  "Come  and  have  tea.  It 
may  not  be  as  delightful  as  your  dreams,  but 
it  is  more  sociable. " 

It  did  not  take  Lulu  long  to  discover 
that  there  was  something  very  wrong  with 
Nanny.  The  tea  hour,  which  was  usually  a 
cheerful  time  at  Pittivie,  failed  to  arouse  her 
to  any  kind  of  interest  in  what  was  going  on. 
Lulu's  heart  ached  for  her,  and  she  made 
several  attempts  to  break  down  the  barrier 
of  reserve  which  Nanny  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  drawn  round  her. 

Was  it  reserve?  Lulu  wondered,  or  was 
is  225 


226  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Nanny  ill?  She  looked  only  half  alive.  Her 
troubles  had  never  affected  her  in  this  way 
before.  On  the  night  of  Jim's  accident  she 
had  poured  her  heart  out  in  wild  regrets  and 
tears  and  passionate  protests  of  remorse,  and 
it  had  been  like  her  to  do  so.  It  was  her  own 
impulsive,  impetuous  self,  but  this  was  some- 
thing quite  different. 

Before  the  evening  was  over  Lulu  had 
worked  herself  into  the  firm  conviction  that 
Nanny  was  ill,  or  going  to  be  ill.  Sir  Andrew 
treated  her  fears  with  his  usual  caution, 
and  she  almost  found  it  in  her  heart  to 
be  angry t  with  him  because  he  would  not  be 
alarmed. 

Instinctively  she  turned  to  the  comforter 
who  never  thought  her  troubles  too  small 
or  her  anxieties  groundless.  The  stern  side 
of  Margaret's  character  was  unknown  to 
Lulu.  She  recognised  its  strength  only,  and 
drew  on  it  ungrudgingly.  She  never  thought 
of  Margaret  as  an  inferior.  She  was  the  all- 
pervading  influence  in  the  house,  of  order  and 
strength  and  comfort.  No  secrets  were  kept 


A  Compromising  Parasol         227 

from  her,  because  she  had  never  been  known 
to  betray  a  trust. 

Margaret  listened  to  all  that  Lady  Brewster 
had  to  say.  She  had  come  as  usual  to  her 
mistress's  room,  the  last  thing  at  night,  to 
see  that  she  had  everything  she  required, 
and  went  about  her  duties  with  methodical 
precision. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  weather  that  had  affected 
Mrs.  Adair,  she  suggested,  as  she  altered  the 
position  of  the  lamp,  and  arranged  the  books 
on  the  table  within  easy  reach  of  Lady  Brew- 
ster's  hand. 

There  had  been  thunder  hanging  about  for 
the  last  few  days.  Her  ladyship  had  not  felt 
well  herself  that  afternoon.  She  would  go 
round  by  the  nursery  later  on  and  see  if  all 
was  right,  she  said. 

Nanny  slept  at  night  beside  the  child's  cot, 
and  Margaret  passed  the  nursery  always  be- 
fore going  to  her  own  room.  Outside  the 
door  she  paused,  but  she  did  not  knock  as  she 
had  intended  to  do.  The  sound  of  heart- 
broken sobs,  vainly  stifled,  struck  on  her  ear. 


228  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

If  it  had  been  her  mistress,  she  would  have 
gone  into  the  room  and  soothed  and  comforted 
her.  Long  years  ago  Margaret  had  passed 
through  the  fire  of  suffering,  and  she  knew! 
She  recognised  the  note  of  agony  which 
throbbed  through  that  sound  of  muffled 
weeping.  Only  the  hand  which  had  dealt  the 
blow  could  heal  the  wound. 

"She's  greetin'  for  her  man,  an*  he's 
hurted  her  sair, "  she  murmured,  and  the 
tears  glistened  in  her  grey  eyes.  "Puir  lamb! 
It 's  him,  no  me,  wha  can  help  her, "  and  with 
hushed  footsteps  she  passed  softly  on  her  way. 

It  was  her  custom  to  make  the  round  of 
the  house  at  night  and  see  that  the  doors 
were  shut  and  all  the  maids  were  off  to  bed 
by  ten  o'clock.  Margaret  allowed  no  loiter- 
ing by  moonlight,  or  any  other  light,  after  a 
certain  hour.  There  were  no  men-servants 
kept  in  Pittivie  household  and  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  maid  who  had  answered  the  door 
that  afternoon  to  Mrs.  Maynard,  all  the  other 
servants  had  been  in  service  at  the  castle  for 
some  time. 


A  Compromising  Parasol         229 

This  particular  girl  Margaret  did  not  ap- 
prove of,  and  had  every  intention  of  parting 
with  as  soon  as  she  could  find  another  to  fill 
her  place.  She  was  a  Pittivie  girl,  born  and 
bred,  but  had  gone  out  into  the  world  and 
come  back  with  certain  modern  ideas,  and  a 
mincing  English  accent  which  Margaret  did 
not  consider  either  necessary  or  becoming. 

It  was  close  upon  eleven  o'clock,  for  Mar- 
garet had  been  delayed  longer  than  usual  in 
Lady  Brewster's  room,  but  she  found  that, 
according  to  the  ordinary  rules,  the  doors 
were  locked,  and  the  servants  had  gone  to 
bed.  The  only  unusual  thing  which  attracted 
her  attention  was  a  light  coming  from  under- 
neath the  pantry  door,  and  an  annoyed  ex- 
pression crossed  her  face  as  she  saw  it. 

"Readin'  trashy  novelettes,  instead  o' 
bein'  in  her  bed  like  ony  decent  lassie  at  this 
time  o*  nicht,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  open- 
ing the  door  walked  into  the  pantry. 

The  girl  was  sitting  with  her  elbows  on  the 
table  and  her  eyes  glued  to  the  flimsy  sheets  of 
paper  spread  out  before  her.  Her  cap  was 


230  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

tossed  aside,  and  her  rumpled  hair  and  flushed 
cheeks  were  a  flattering  tribute  to  the  interest 
of  the  story  she  was  devouring  greedily. 

She  turned  with  a  start  when  the  door 
opened  and  she  recognised  the  tall  figure 
standing  in  the  entrance. 

Margaret's  glance  went  past  her  to  the 
table.  The  cap  was  lying  there.  It  was  an 
eyesore  in  itself:  a  senseless  thing  which  was  no 
cap  at  all :  a  bow  of  starched  muslin  with  long 
streamers  hanging  from  it,  which  were  always 
getting  in  the  way  of  its  owner. 

But  there  was  something  else  lying  beside 
the  cap,  which  looked  strangely  out  of  place 
on  the  bare  wooden  table.  It  was  a  lady's 
parasol:  a  lovely  indescribable  thing  of  chiffon 
of  the  softest  shades  of  colour.  Round  the 
handle  was  twisted  a  gold  serpent.  The 
cruel  flat  head  was  encrusted  with  jewels,  and 
a  pair  of  emerald  eyes  gleamed  wickedly  under 
the  light  of  the  lamp. 

Margaret  walked  up  to  the  table  and  looked 
more  closely  at  the  parasol.  She  did  not 
know  of  any  visitors  having  been  at  the  castle 


A  Compromising  Parasol        231 

that  afternoon.  She  had  been  called  away  to 
see  a  sick  woman  in  the  village,  and  had  not 
returned  till  late.  As  a  rule,  she  was  always 
informed  of  anything  which  took  place  in  her 
absence,  and  her  surprise  was  mingled  with 
rebuke  when,  in  answer  to  her  question  as  to 
whom  the  parasol  belonged,  the  girl  replied 
that  it  had  been  left  behind  by  a  lady  who  had 
called  that  afternoon. 

"  An'  what 's  it  daen  here?  "  asked  Margaret. 

The  girl  was  afraid  of  Margaret,  but  she 
always  tried  to  appear  as  though  she  were  not. 

"'I  was  going  to  do  it  up  in  a  parcel  and 
send  it  by  the  carrier  in  the  morning.  I  know 
who  to  send  it  to,"  she  answered  rather 
pertly.  "The  lady  who  left  it  was  here 
the  other  day  with  the  party  who  came 
back  that  afternoon  with  Sir  Andrew  and  her 
ladyship." 

"Wha  gave  you  leave  tae  send  paircels  tae 
the  gentry  wha  comes  tae  the  hoos  wi'oot 
lettin'  me  ken?"  said  Margaret  slowly. 

Her  Scotch  tongue  compared  forcibly  with 
the  other's  glibness  of  speech. 


232  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  girl  stammered  something  to  the  effect 
that  she  thought  she  was  doing  her  duty. 

"Your  duty,  Jemima  Brown,  is  tae  dae 
what  ye  're  bid,  an'  it 's  tae  me  that  ye  '11 
come  for  yir  orders.  Mind  that.  Which  of 
the  leddys  was  it?"  she  asked. 

Jemima  was  about  to  launch  into  a  glowing 
description  of  Mrs.  Maynard,  whose  person- 
ality she  had  been  fitting  into  that  of  the 
heroine  of  the  story  she  had  been  read- 
ing; but  something  in  Margaret's  expression 
checked  her  volubility.  She  had  not  said 
half  a  dozen  words  before  Margaret  knew 
whom  she  meant. 

"Her  leddyship  was  no  seein'  visitors  this 
aifternin, "  she  said,  looking  at  the  girl  closely. 
"What  way  did  ye  come  tae  let  ony  leddy 
in?" 

Jemima  Brown  explained  that  the  lady 
had  asked  to  see  Mrs.  Adair,  and  that  she  had 
shown  her  into  the  drawing-room,  and  that 
she  had  stayed  for  quite  half  an  hour. 

"An'  ye  shewed  her  oot?"  asked  Margaret. 

The  girl  tossed  her  head. 


A  Compromising  Parasol        233 

"Deed,"  she  exclaimed,  lapsing  momen- 
tarily into  her  native  dialect.  "Some  folks 
gives  their  orders  as  if  the  hale  place  belonged 
tae  them." 

She  fell  back  again  into  her  cultivated 
English  accent. 

' ' '  Mrs.  M aynard's  carriage ! '  That  was  the 
order  I  got  from  Mrs.  Adair,  as  proud  as  you 
like." 

Margaret  had  heard  enough,  without  re- 
quiring that  last  remark  to  force  conviction 
on  her  mind.  A  sombre  light  had  begun  to 
smoulder  in  her  deep-set  eyes.  She  picked 
up  the  parasol,  and  locking  the  novelette  into 
the  table  drawer,  put  the  key  in  her  pocket. 
She  had  brought  a  lighted  candle  with  her 
into  the  pantry,  for  the  passages  outside  were 
dark.  She  turned  down  the  lamp  and  it  went 
out  with  a  sputter. 

"Awa'  tae  yir  bed,"  she  said  sternly,  and 
held  the  candle  above  her  head  to  allow 
Jemima  Brown  to  find  her  way  through  the 
door  and  stumble  up  the  steps  which  led  to 
her  own  room. 


234  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Margaret  waited  until  all  was  quiet.  Then 
she  shut  the  pantry  door,  and  setting  the 
candle  on  the  table  and  laying  the  parasol  be- 
side it,  began  to  walk  noiselessly  backwards 
and  forwards  over  the  stone-flagged  floor. 

Her  chin  was  sunk  on  her  chest  and  she  was 
thinking  deeply  as  she  passed  to  and  fro. 
Every  time  she  neared  the  table  the  green 
eyes  in  the  jewelled  head  of  the  serpent 
flashed  in  the  flicker  of  the  candle  light.  By 
degrees  she  became  dimly  conscious  that  in 
some  subtle  way  those  green  eyes  were  mag- 
netising her  brain.  They  were  forcing  an 
inspiration  into  it.  The  few  minutes'  cross- 
questioning  of  Jemima  Brown  had  made  a 
great  many  things  plain  to  her.  Lady  Brew- 
ster's  instincts  had  led  her  right.  Something 
had  happened  that  afternoon  to  Mrs.  Adair  to 
cause  her  great  suffering,  and  the  suffering 
had  been  mental,  not  bodily.  Margaret  had 
the  evidence  of  her  own  ears  to  vouch  for 
that,  and  she  knew  that  the  power  lay  in  her 
hands  to  bring  to  justice  the  cause  of  that 
suffering. 


A  Compromising  Parasol         235 

Hidden  in  her  mind  for  the  last  three  days 
and  nights  had  been  the  knowledge  of  a  secret 
which  she  had  not  known  how  to  use.  Now 
she  knew.  A  crisis  had  come,  and  she  must 
use  her  knowledge,  and  use  it  as  quickly  as 
possible.  She  must  speak  face  to  face  with 
that  woman  who  was  trying  to  wreck  the 
lives  of  the  people  whose  happiness  Margaret 
wished  to  see  complete. 

She  could  seek  an  interview  with  Mrs. 
Maynard  by  going  to  the  house  where  she 
was  staying  and  asking  to  see  her,  but  she 
would  rather  avoid  that  course.  She  did  not 
wish  to  go  to  Mrs.  Maynard.  She  wanted 
Mrs.  Maynard  to  come  to  her.  She  was  fully 
aware  of  the  importance  of  making  her  enemy 
meet  her  on  her  own  ground.  Mrs.  Maynard 
must  be  made  to  come  to  Pittivie,  but  how 
was  that  to  be  managed?  It  was  a  question 
which  puzzled  her  sorely. 

She  came  to  a  standstill  by  the  table,  and 
looked  down  at  the  parasol. 

The  stem  of  it  was  of  dark-coloured  bamboo, 
and  the  section  of  the  wood  strongly  denned. 


236  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  coils  of  the  serpent's  body  were  twisted 
closely  together  round  the  thick  stump  of  the 
handle,  and  the  jewelled  head  reached  to 
within  an  inch  of  the  top.  The  emerald  eyes 
fascinated  her.  They  shone  so  brilliantly, 
and  had  a  wicked  gleam  in  them. 

"Are  ye  real  or  fause?"  she  murmured, 
and  put  her  finger  on  one  of  the  glittering 
stones  and  rubbed  it. 

To  her  astonishment  the  eye  disappeared, 
and  with  a  sharp  click  the  end  of  the  bamboo 
stem  sprang  open  like  the  top  of  a  scent- 
bottle. 

She  sat  down  in  the  chair  drawn  up  to  the 
table  and  drew  the  candle  nearer. 

She  turned  over  the  parasol  curiously.  The 
inside  of  the  hollow  stem  was  stuffed  full  of 
letters.  They  were  so  tightly  wedged  in  that 
she  had  to  take  one  of  the  knitting  needles 
from  the  bag  which  hung  at  her  side  and  dig 
it  into  the  hole  before  she  could  get  any  of 
them  out. 

She  spread  them  on  the  table  before  her, 
and  turned  them  over  with  the  point  of  the 


A  Compromising  Parasol         237 

needle  as  though  they  had  been  some  kind  of 
noxious  animals.  She  had  no  intention  of 
reading  them.  Even  if  she  had,  she  might 
not  have  understood  their  full  meaning.  They 
would  have  thrown  sidelights  on  some  curious 
incidents  in  Mrs.  Maynard's  history.  But 
the  fact  of  their  being  hidden  where  they 
were,  and  of  her  having  discovered  their 
existence,  was  sufficient  for  Margaret's  pur- 
pose. The  value  of  what  she  had  found 
lay  in  the  fact,  that  she  now  held  in  her 
hands  a  means  of  bringing  Mrs.  Maynard 
to  Pitt i vie. 

"Folk  that  pit  things  in  hidy-holes  are  aye 
feared  tae  be  foond  oot, "  she  said  to  herself 
grimly,  as  she  replaced  the  letters,  using  the 
knitting  needle  as  much  as  possible,  so  that 
her  fingers  should  not  come  into  contact  with 
them. 

Her  brain  was  working  rapidly  all  the 
time. 

Mrs.  Maynard  might  return  of  her  own 
accord  to  claim  her  property;  probably  she 
would.  She  would  be  afraid  the  parasol 


238  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

might  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  careless  messen- 
ger, but  Margaret  had  no  intention  of  leaving 
anything  to  chance.  The  lines  of  her  mouth 
set  determinedly  when  she  remembered  the 
promise  she  had  given  to  Jim  the  morning  of 
his  departure. 

"I  was  to  tak'  care  o'  them  till  he  cam' 
back.  A  bonny  like  wey  I  've  keepit  ma 
wurd.  Lettin'  thon  wuman  nigh  ane  o  '  his 
lambs!" 

She  again  took  up  the  candle  and  the 
parasol,  and  leaving  the  pantry  made  her  way 
to  her  own  room  in  the  old  tower.  She  had 
no  hesitation  as  to  what  she  was  going  to  do. 
She  opened  an  old-fashioned  writing-desk  and 
spread  a  sheet  of  notepaper  before  her.  She 
first  wrote  the  date  and  address,  then  a  few 
lines  in  her  clear,  precise  handwriting,  and 
putting  it  into  an  envelope,  addressed  and 
stamped  it. 

Margaret  was  homely  of  speech,  and  spoke 
her  native  tongue  with  pride;  but  she  was 
not  an  illiterate  woman,  and  could  write  and 
spell  in  good  English. 


A  Compromising  Parasol         239 

She  put  the  letter  into  her  pocket,  and 
throwing  a  shawl  over  her  head  let  herself 
out  of  the  house  by  a  side  door.  A  pathway 
led  through  the  castle  grounds  to  a  road 
which  ran  along  the  cliff  in  the  direction  of  the 
village.  It  was  light  enough  to  see  her  way, 
and  not  more  than  a  few  minutes'  walk  to  the 
post-office.  The  good  folk  of  Pittivie  had 
been  in  bed  and  asleep  hours  before,  and  she 
dropped  her  letter  into  the  box,  and  returned 
to  the  castle  without  having  seen  any  sign 
of  life.  The  post  gig  started  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning  on  its  way  to  the  nearest  town, 
and  the  postman  delivered  the  local  letters 
as  he  went  along.  Mrs.  Maynard  would  re- 
ceive that  letter  probably  with  her  morning 
cup  of  tea. 

Margaret  smiled  a  little  as  she  let  herself 
in  again  at  the  side  door  and  locked  it  behind 
her.  The  tower  room  looked  very  ghostly 
as  she  returned  to  it.  The  stone  slab  had 
been  replaced  over  the  mouth  of  the  hole  in 
the  floor,  but  the  carpet  had  not  been  laid 
down  again,  and  the  massive  iron  ring  by 


240  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

which  the  stone  was  raised  or  lowered  was 
left  plainly  visible. 

"We  'llhaeoor  bit  talk  here,  I  'mthmkin'," 
she  remarked  to  herself.  "It's  quiet  like. 
We  '11  no  be  interrupit. " 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  TRAPPING  OF  THE  SYREN 

JWI ARGARET  was  not  a  person  to  entangle 
herself  in  useless  mysteries.  She  had 
worded  her  letter  very  simply,  because  she 
was  sure  that  simplicity  would  gain  her  object 
more  effectively  than  a  message  calculated 
to  rouse  fear. 

She  made  a  pretty  shrewd  guess  as  to 
what  had  happened  that  afternoon  when 
Mrs.  Maynard  had  called.  The  interview 
had  evidently  terminated  unpleasantly.  Mrs. 
Adair  had  practically  turned  her  out  of  the 
house.  Margaret  was  quite  sure  of  that,  and 
she  was  also  sure  that  neither  Sir  Andrew 
nor  Lady  Brewster  had  been  told  of  the  visit. 
But  Mrs.  Maynard  was  not  to  know  that 
Sir  Andrew  and  Lady  Brewster  were  in  ignor- 
ance of  her  having  been  at  Pittivie.  She 

16  241 


242  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

would  be  very  anxious  to  recover  her  parasol, 
and  considering  its  secret  value,  glad  to  have 
it  given  back  into  her  own  hands.  If  she 
knew  that  the  family  were  to  be  from  home, 
and  that  she  had  only  a  servant  to  deal  with, 
she  would  come  herself  to  fetch  it. 

All  this  Margaret  argued  out  to  herself. 
Her  letter  was  a  respectful  communication 
to  say  that  if  Mrs.  Maynard  was  the  lady  who 
had  left  a  parasol  at  the  castle  the  day  before, 
it  was  in  safe  custody.  As  the  family  were  to 
be  from  home  the  following  afternoon,  would 
any  one  calling  for  the  parasol  ask  for  the 
housekeeper. 

It  sounded  most  simple.  The  parasol  with 
its  jewelled  handle  was  too  valuable  a  thing 
to  be  sent  touring  about  the  country-side 
in  search  of  a  possible  owner.  It  ought  to 
be  given  into  safe  hands,  and  the  remark 
about  the  family  being  from  home  gave  Mrs. 
Maynard  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  if 
she  called  at  Pittivie  she  would  not  be  obliged 
to  see  any  one  whom  she  did  not  wish  to  meet. 

It  would    also  be   quite   true   about   the 


The  Trapping  of  the  Syren       243 

family  being  from  home  if  things  turned  out 
as  Margaret  expected.  Every  summer  Sir 
Andrew  gave  an  entainment  to  the  village 
children  and  the  entertainment  was  to  take 
place  that  afternoon.  If  the  weather  were 
fine  it  was  to  be  held  in  a  field  at  some  little 
distance  from  the  castle.  Experience  had 
proved  that  the  ruins  and  precipitous  cliffs 
were  dangerous  attractions  for  small  children 
and  this  particular  field  was  quite  safe  and 
not  inconveniently  near. 

The  entertainment  generally  went  on  from 
three  till  six,  and  it  was  the  custom  for  the 
Pittivie  household  to  turn  out  en  masse  to 
help  in  the  amusements.  A  tent  was  erected, 
and  an  enormous  tea  was  provided.  Mrs. 
Adair  would  be  almost  certain  to  go  on  this 
occasion,  and  she  would  take  the  child  with 
her. 

It  was  Margaret's  duty  to  see  that  all  the 
preparations  for  the  entertainment  were  made, 
but  it  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  be  present. 
When  Mrs.  Maynard  rang  the  front-door  bell 
at  Pittivie,  shortly  before  four  o'clock,  it  was 


244  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

not  answered  by  Jemima  Brown,  but  by  a 
rosy-cheeked  girl,  who  had  received  her  in- 
structions from  Margaret,  and  who  had  no 
ideas  in  her  head  beyond  doing  what  she  had 
been  told  to  do,  and  then  hurrying  off  to  join 
the  crowd  in  the  field  by  the  shore,  where 
her  fellow-servants  had  preceded  her. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  carried  away  with  her  a 
very  confused  idea  of  the  architectural  peculi- 
arities of  Pittivie.  If  she  had  been  conducted 
by  the  rosy-cheeked  girl,  from  the  hall  into  the 
long  stone  passage  which  led  to  Margaret's 
room  in  the  tower,  she  might  have  recognised 
her  bearings;  but  as  it  was,  she  was  taken 
in  and  out  of  so  many  odd  little  rooms,  all 
leading  one  out  of  the  other,  that  it  was  not 
until  a  door  was  thrown  open,  and  she  passed 
through  it  and  heard  it  close  behind  her,  that 
she  realised  where  she  was. 

She  was  a  miserable  coward  at  heart.  Her 
eyes  fell  on  the  great  iron  ring  sunk  in  the 
stone  slab  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  a 
shudder  ran  through  her  body.  That  terrible 
hole  lay  almost  immediately  beneath  her  feet, 


The  Trapping  of  the  Syren       245 

and  she  remembered  the  ghastly  tales  she 
had  heard  recited  as  she  stood  by  the  edge 
of  it. 

She  shrank  back,  and  looked  round  for  the 
door.  Not  a  sign  of  an  entrance  or  exit  was 
visible.  One  piece  of  panelling  appeared  to  be 
exactly  the  same  as  the  other.  The  windows 
were  tightly  shut,  and  when  she  tried  to  open 
one,  it  felt  as  though  it  were  nailed  to  its 
socket. 

A  nameless  terror  crept  slowly  over  her. 
She  sank  down  helplessly  on  a  chair.  Although 
the  atmosphere  in  the  room  was  hot  and 
heavy,  her  teeth  chattered,  and  she  shivered 
as  if  she  were  sitting  in  a  vault. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DENOUNCED 

TN  some  ways  Mrs.  Maynard  was  a  very 
clever  woman,  and  in  others  she  was  a 
very  stupid  one. 

As  she  sat  in  that  vault-room,  waiting  for 
she  knew  not  what,  she  told  herself  over  and 
over  again  in  impotent  fear  and  anger,  that 
she  had  been  a  fool  to  make  use  of  such  a 
silly  expedient  as  to  hide  these  letters  in  the 
handle  of  her  parasol. 

Even  although  it  was  a  hidden  opening,  the 
secret  ran  the  risk  of  being  discovered  at  any 
moment. 

A  parasol  might  be  stolen,  mislaid,  or  lost 
very  easily:  an  inquisitive  person  examining 
the  serpent's  head  too  closely  might  loosen 
the  spring.  It  was  not  a  thing  she  could  carry 
about  her  person  night  and  day,  and  the  value 

246 


Denounced  247 

of  the  jewelled  handle  was  its  greatest  source 
of  danger. 

Ever  since  she  had  discovered  her  loss  she 
had  been  furious  with  herself  for  her  stupidity 
in  not  having  taken  into  account  all  these 
contingencies.  One  day  she  had  surprised 
her  maid  in  the  act  of  reading  her  letters, 
and  she  had  thought  herself  very  clever  in 
thinking  of  this  plan  by  which  she  could  hide 
her  private  affairs  from  inquisitive  eyes. 

What  the  letters  contained  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  explain,  but  their  loss  was  a  matter 
of  vital  interest  to  their  owner. 

Had  the  secret  of  the  parasol  been  dis- 
covered she  wondered,  and  was  this  going  to 
be  a  case  of  blackmail?  She  was  so  accus- 
tomed to  her  own  crooked  views  of  human 
nature,  that  she  attributed  crooked  ways 
to  other  people.  It  was  probable  that  the 
parasol  was  hidden  somewhere  in  the  room. 
If  only  she  could  gain  possession  of  it  before 
she  was  interrupted,  she  might  be  able  to 
make  her  own  terms,  she  thought. 

She  rose  from  her  chair,   and,   shrinking 


248  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

away  from  that  iron  ring  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  which  so  terrified  her,  she  crept 
cautiously  round  by  the  walls.  There  were 
cupboards  evidently  behind  the  panelling, 
for  when  she  looked  closely  she  saw  the  marks 
of  keyholes  pierced  in  the  woodwork,  and  with 
a  startled  exclamation  of  joy  she  saw  that  a 
bunch  of  keys  had  been  left  lying  on  the 
table. 

In  a  second  her  hand  had  closed  over  them. 
She  had  already  lifted  them  when  her  eyes 
fell  upon  a  framed  photograph  standing  on 
the  table  exactly  in  front  of  her.  It  was 
the  photograph  of  Margaret's  brother,  David 
Robertson.  No  attempt  had  been  made  by 
the  artist  to  soften  down  the  harsh  effects 
of  black  and  white.  It  was  painfully,  and 
distinctly  life-like. 

The  bunch  of  keys  fell  from  her  nerveless 
fingers  with  a  clinking  rattle  on  the  stone 
flags,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  door  opened 
and  Margaret  came  into  the  room. 

Mrs.  Maynard  saw  the  open  door,  and  the 
long  passage  beyond  it  which  led  to  freedom. 


Denounced  249 

If  her  body  would  only  answer  her  will  and 
allow  her  to  make  a  rush  past  that  tall  menac- 
ing figure!  But  it  would  not.  She  knew  that 
she  was  trapped  in  some  horrible  net  from 
which  she  could  not  escape.  She  stood 
chittering  and  shivering  like  some  half-witted 
creature  by  the  side  of  the  table,  until  she  saw 
the  door  close  and  the  tall  figure  advancing 
slowly  towards  her. 

Margaret  saw  the  bunch  of  keys  and  the 
photograph,  and  guessed  what  had  happened. 
She  had  purposely  left  her  visitor  for  some 
time  by  herself.  The  associations  connected 
with  the  Death  Tower  were  not  cheerful,  and 
not  likely  to  soothe  the  nerves  of  a  person 
suffering  from  a  bad  conscience. 

In  appearance,  Margaret  resembled  her 
brother  very  strongly,  and,  as  she  stood  look- 
ing down  at  the  cowering  woman,  she  saw 
Mrs.  Maynard's  eyes  go  from  her  face  to  that 
of  the  photograph,  and  then  back  again,  in 
undisguised  terror  and  apprehension. 

Margaret  had  no  intention  of  beating  about 
the  bush.  She  had  brought  this  woman  to 


250  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

the  house  for  a  purpose,  and  she  opened  the 
conversation  at  once.  She  pointed  to  the 
photograph. 

"I  ken  a'  aboot  ye,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Thon's  my  brither.  He  had  chairge  o' 
yir  husband,  who  couldna'  take  care  o' 
himsel',  for  five  years. " 

Mrs.  Maynard  swayed  a  little  from  side  to 
side  and  held  on  more  tightly  to  the  table. 
The  eyes  of  this  tall,  stern  woman  seemed  to 
pierce  right  through  her. 

"Yir  husband's  been  deid  for  a  twelve- 
month," continued  the  quiet  voice.  "My 
brither  pit  him  in  his  coffin,  and  saw  the  sod 
stampit  ower  his  grave.  Ye  paid  for  the 
berryin'  yersel',  sae  ye  ken  it 's  true." 

Mrs.  Maynard  struggled  to  speak,  and  the 
words  came  out  hoarsely. 

"I  paid  everything.  Wages — all  expenses, 
everything!" 

Margaret  looked  her  up  and  down  with 
profound  contempt. 

"Ay,  ye  paid  at  the  laist,  because  ye  kent 
ye  were  free  o'  yir  burden.  But  there  was 


Denounced  251 

mony  a  day  afore  that  when  Davie  had  tae 
tak'  his  ain  tae  keep  yir  man  frae  want." 

Margaret  had  so  far  spoken  in  her  usual 
low  even  tones.  Suddenly  the  glow  of  anger 
flamed  up  in  her  grey  eyes.  Her  voice  vibrated 
with  an  intensity  of  passion  which  was  all  the 
more  terrifying  because  of  the  latent  force 
which  held  it  in  check. 

"Ye  're  fause,"  she  denounced.  "A  black- 
hairted,  evil  wuman,  wha  seeks  tae  live  by 
the  ruin  o'  ithers.  Ye  would  pairt  husband 
and  wife.  Ye  would  tak  awa*  the  love  o'  a 
faither  fra'  his  bairn.  There  's  nae  evil  or 
wickedness  ye  would  na'  dae  tae  serve  yir 
ain  pleesure.  I  said  the  noo  I  kent  a*  aboot 
ye,  I  '11  prove  ma  wurds.  Wha  has  keepit 
disgrace  frae  yir  doors  a*  these  years?  Wha 
has  stood  atween  you  an*  a  drunken  madman? 
I  ken  wha  it  was.  It 's  no  mony  days  since 
he  left  this  hoos,  an'  I  '11  no  sit  by  and  see 
his  wife  and  bairn  wrainged. 

"Ye  've  ta'en  his  siller,  an'  what  hae  ye 
gien  him  in  return  for  a'  that  he  's  done  for 
ye?  Ye  've  chaited  him.  Yir  man's  deid,  an' 


252  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

ye  've  never  let  on  that  he  's  deid.  Ye  've 
ta'en  the  siller  for  his  keep  an'  he's  lyin'  in 
the  kirkyard. " 

She  stopped  speaking,  and  the  terrified 
woman  in  front  of  her  looked  round  in  help- 
less despair. 

Margaret  held  up  her  hand. 

"Ye  're  condemned  oot  o'  yir  ain  mooth," 
she  said  slowly.  "I  heard  ye  tellin*  yir  lees 
when  ye  was  sittin'  outside  my  window 
there." 

Mrs.  Maynard  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  Was  there  anything  this  terrible 
woman  did  not  know?  It  was  useless  to  fight 
against  such  an  overwhelming  weight  of 
evidence. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  stammered. 
"Is  it  money?  Have  you  brought  me  here 
to  try  and  frighten  me  into  giving  you  money?" 

"Money!"  Margaret's  eyes  flashed.  "No, 
it 's  no  money.  Ye  can  richt  the  wraing. 
Send  wurd  tae  him  wha  's  hairt  ye  've  well- 
nigh  broke,  an'  tell  him  hoo  ye  've  leed  tae 
him  a'  this  past  year. " 


Denounced  253 

Mrs.  Maynard  dropped  her  hands  from 
before  her  face. 

"I  dare  not.  I  am  afraid  to  tell  him," 
she  cried. 

Margaret  took  a  step  nearer.  For  the  first 
time  there  was  the  suspicion  of  a  threat  in 
her  voice. 

"  Maybe  ye  '11  get  mair  maircy  frae  him 
than  frae  ithers  I  could  name,"  she  said 
significantly. 

"How  can  I  tell  him — he  is  not  here?  You 
must  give  me  time !  I  must  find  some  means 
of  telling  him!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maynard, 
gaining  a  faint  shadow  of  hope  at  the  prospect 
of  delay. 

If  she  could  only  tell  Jim  in  her  own  way, 
she  might  be  able  to  make  him  see  the  circum- 
stances from  her  point  of  view. 

Margaret  walked  over  to  the  old  writing- 
desk,  and,  opening  it,  placed  pen  and  paper 
in  readiness,  and  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table 
on  which  it  was  standing. 

"Ye '11  write  till  him  afore  ye  leave  this 
room,"  she  said. 


254  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

The  passion  had  died  out  of  her  voice.  She 
was  her  own  quiet,  grave  self  again. 

Mrs.  Maynard  dragged  herself  across  the 
floor,  and  sat  down  before  the  desk.  Fate 
was  inexorable,  there  was  no  help  for  it  but 
to  obey.  • 

She  took  up  the  pen  and  began  to  write, 
at  first  slowly,  then  with  feverish  anxiety. 
She  was  a  fluent  writer  at  any  time,  and  now 
she  strained  every  nerve  to  express  herself 
in  terms  which  would  appeal  to  the  man 
upon  whose  mercy  she  was  staking  her  last 
chance. 

When   she   had   finished,    she   folded   the 
closely  written   sheets,    and   was    about  to 
thrust  them  into  an  envelope. 

Margaret  had  been  watching  her  in  the 
background.  Without  speaking  she  held  out 
her  hand. 

Mrs.  Maynard  drew  herself  up,  and  showed 
a  certain  amount  of  courage. 

"You  have  no  right  to  see  this  letter,"  she 
said.  "It  is  only  to  be  read  by  the  one  who 
understands  all  the  circumstances.  I  have 


Denounced  255 

given  a  full  explanation,  you  have  my  word 
for  it." 

Margaret  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"  I  canna'  trust  ye.  Yir  wurd  's  no  enough," 
and  with  her  strong  firm  hand  she  took  the 
letter  from  between  Mrs.  Maynard's  trem- 
bling fingers,  and,  unfolding  the  two  sheets  of 
paper,  read  them.  It  was  not  difficult,  as  the 
handwriting  was  clear  and  distinct. 

Without  a  muscle  of  her  face  changing,  she 
deliberately  tore  the  letter  into  small  pieces. 
There  was  a  distinct  ring  of  command  now  in 
her  voice,  as  laying  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper 
on  the  board  of  the  writing-desk,  she  said: 

' '  Ye  canna'  waste  time.  Tell  him  yir  man 's 
deid  an'  hoo  lang  he's  been  deid.  That  ye 
never  let  on,  but  keepit  his  siller  an'  spent  it 
for  yir  ain  pleesure.  If  ye  daur  pray  for 
maircy,  it 's  for  him  tae  say — no  me. " 

With  an  obedience  which  she  had  never 
thought  to  tender  to  any  human  being,  Mrs. 
Maynard  wrote  the  second  letter  with  Mar- 
garet's compelling  presence  standing  erect 
behind  her  chair.  It  was  only  a  few  disjointed 


256  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

sentences,  for  before  she  had  covered  half  a 
sheet  of  paper,  Margaret  placed  an  envelope 
in  front  of  her,  and  from  the  inside  of  her 
work-basket  she  unpinned  a  strip  of  paper 
and  laid  it  beside  the  envelope.  On  it  was 
written  the  address  which  Jim  had  given  her 
the  morning  he  left  Pittivie. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  relinquished  all  thought 
of  resistance.  To  escape  from  the  house  was 
the  one  idea  uppermost  in  her  mind.  She 
did  not  care  what  depths  of  humiliation  she 
was  dragged  through,  if  only  she  could  regain 
her  liberty.  A  hasty  glance  at  the  strip  of 
paper  was  sufficient  to  tell  her  who  had 
written  the  words,  and  she  knew  the  address 
well.  She  directed  the  envelope,  and,  throw- 
ing down  the  pen,  rose  to  her  feet.  Instinct 
told  her  that  it  would  be  useless  to  suggest 
that  she  should  post  the  letter  herself;  she 
would  never  be  allowed  to  take  it  out  of  the 
room. 

"Let  me  go,"  she  said,  looking  round 
wildly.  "Where  is  the  door?  Open  it  for 
me  at  once." 


Denounced  257 

But  Margaret  was  not  to  be  hurried.  There 
was  time  enough  yet  for  what  remained  to 
be  done.  She  locked  the  letter  into  the 
writing-case. 

"Ye  've  forgot  what  ye  cam'  tae  seek," 
she  said,  and,  picking  up  the  bunch  of  keys 
from  the  floor  where  it  had  lain  unnoticed, 
she  opened  one  of  the  cupboards  in  the  wall 
and  took  out  the  parasol. 

The  light  caught  the  jewelled  head  of  the 
serpent,  and  glistened  on  the  gold  of  its 
twisted  body. 

"It  canna'  keep  a  trust — it's  fause,"  she 
remarked  quietly,  as  she  put  it  into  the  hands 
of  its  owner. 

She  crossed  the  room,  and  drawing  down  a 
small  knob  in  the  panelling,  which  was  painted 
the  same  colour  as  the  woodwork  and  was 
hardly  noticeable  to  any  one  who  did  not 
understand  its  meaning,  the  door  opened 
easily. 

This  time  there  was  no  object  in  confusing 
Mrs.  Maynard  by  leading  her  through  the 
intricate  windings  of  the  old  house. 

17 


258  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Margaret  preceded  her  along  the  stone 
passage  which  led  into  the  hall,  and  passed 
•through  the  porch  and  down  the  pathway  to 
the  door  in  the  garden  wall.  Outside  it  the 
carriage  was  waiting  which  had  brought  Mrs. 
Maynard  to  Pittivie. 

Margaret  stood  in  the  open  doorway,  and 
watched  the  carriage  disappear  through  the 
heavy  iron  gates  which  opened  out  on  to  the 
high  road.  Then  she  slowly  retraced  her 
steps. 

Her  work  had  been  done  more  successfully 
than  she  had  hoped,  and  no  one  knew  of  what 
had  taken  place.  That  was  what  she  had 
aimed  at  from  the  first  to  last.  It  must  never 
be  known  what  share  she  had  taken  in  wring- 
ing that  confession  from  Mrs.  Maynard.  What 
use  would  be  made  of  it,  and  what  punish- 
ment would  be  meted  out  to  the  guilty  woman 
was  no  affair  of  hers ;  but  she  had  a  firm  faith 
in  the  Almighty's  power  of  vengeance. 

She  would  have  liked  to  post  the  letter  there 
and  then,  and  rid  her  mind  of  the  last  respon- 
sibility, but  she  decided  to  wait  until  the 


Denounced  259 

evening,  and,  when  all  was  quiet,  she  would 
do  as  she  had  done  before,  and  slip  out  under 
cover  of  darkness,  and  post  it  herself. 

She  fetched  her  knitting  from  her  own 
room,  and  went  out  to  the  bench  which  was 
propped  against  the  wall  beside  her  window. 
She  liked  to  sit  there  and  watch  the  sea,  and 
listen  to  the  cries  of  the  wild  birds  and  the 
beat  of  the  waves  breaking  against  the  rocks. 
In  the  distance  she  could  hear  the  children's 
voices,  and  the  sounds  of  merry-making 
coming  from  the  field  down  by  the  shore. 
She  sat  and  knitted  placidly,  and  a  feeling  of 
great  rest  and  contentment  settled  on  her 
spirit. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NANNY  WATCHES   THE  YACHT 

TVFANNY    often   wondered   in   after   years 
how  she  managed  to  exist  through  that 
week  of  waiting,  and  to  keep  up  her  courage, 
outwardly,  before  those  around  her. 

After  the  first  evening  following  Mrs.  May- 
nard's  visit,  Lulu  ceased  to  worry  over  the 
girl's  looks.  The  expression  of  dazed  stupor 
left  her  face,  and  if  she  was  restless  and  absent- 
minded,  at  times,  it  was  only  what  was  to  be 
expected;  and  although  Lulu  did  not  wish 
to  part  with  Nanny  and  the  child,  she  began 
to  long  for  the  time  when  Jim  would  return 
and  take  his  belongings  into  his  own  keeping, 
for  she  saw,  that  whatever  was  the  strain 
under  which  Nanny  was  labouring,  it  was 
telling  on  her  severely. 

Perhaps   that  hour  of  bitter  weeping,  of 
260 


Nanny  Watches  the  Yacht       261 

which  Margaret  alone  knew  the  agony,  had 
eased  Nanny's  heart.  She  had  naturally  a 
high  spirit,  and  both  her  pride  and  her  love 
helped  her.  There  were  times  when  the 
black  cloud  closed  in  upon  her  so  darkly  that 
she  had  to  go  away  by  herself,  and  fight  the 
demons  of  jealousy  and  doubt  which  tortured 
her;  but  out  of  each  fight  she  emerged  with 
one  determination  fixed  more  and  more  firmly 
in  her  mind.  She  would  judge  her  husband 
on  no  condemnation  but  his  own.  If  what 
he  had  to  tell  her  was  unforgivable,  then  all 
would  have  to  be  at  an  end  between  them. 
But  she  would  hear  what  he  had  to  say  from 
his  own  lips,  and  he  would  tell  her  the  truth 
whatever  it  was.  He  would  not  deceive  her, 
even  for  the  sake  of  sparing  her  unhappiness. 
The  days  slipped  past  uneventfully.  Jim 
had  not  written  to  her,  and  she  had  not 
expected  that  he  would,  but  Sir  Andrew  had 
received  a  letter,  and  she  knew  from  it  that 

he  was  in  London. 

The  hours  crept  slowly  on,  and  it  came  to 
the  last  day   but   one.    After  lunch,  when 


262  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

every  one  as  a  rule  scattered  to  follow  their 
own  interests,  she  picked  up  a  book,  and 
passing  through  the  garden,  went  out  on  to 
the  cliffs,  by  the  gate  which  Sandy  was  ac- 
customed to  use  when  he  brought  his  boat 
round  to  the  landing-stage  at  the  foot  of  the 
rocks. 

She  made  her  way  to  a  favourite  nook  where 
she  often  sat — a  patch  of  wild  grass  grew  in 
a  cleft  between  two  big  boulders,  and  there 
was  a  shelving  bank  to  lean  her  back  against. 

It  was  like  a  sea-bird's  nest.  The  water 
encircled  her  on  almost  every  side.  She  was 
so  high  up,  that,  stretching  away  to  the 
distant  horizon,  the  broad  line  of  the  blue 
Firth  lay  like  a  carpet  beneath  her  feet.  She 
watched  the  fishing  boats;  the  steamers  as 
they  passed  within  sight;  the  white  sails  of 
vessels  coming  and  going;  there  was  a  rest- 
fulness  and  peace  in  the  wide  expanse  of  sea 
and  sky. 

She  was  not  in  the  humour  for  reading  and 
did  not  even  open  her  book.  She  had  brought 
it  with  her  as  an  excuse  for  solitude.  She 


Nanny  Watches  the  Yacht       263 

could  not  keep  her  mind  for  long  from  dwell- 
ing on  the  thought  of  what  was  going  to 
happen  the  next  day.  A  great  crisis  was 
hanging  over  her;  its  coming  possessed  her 
with  one  idea  and  one  hope. 

At  some  distance  from  where  she  was 
sitting  a  young  fisher-lad  was  lying  full  length 
on  the  short  turf  which  crowned  the  heights 
of  the  cliff.  His  head  was  hanging  over  the 
edge  of  the  rock  and  he  was  craning  his  neck 
to  its  utmost  to  enable  him  to  see  some  object 
below  him. 

She  knew  what  was  his  purpose,  and  at  any 
other  time  would  have  been  interested  in  his 
movements,  but  only  a  vague  curiosity  stirred 
her.  She  had  seen  the  sea-birds  being  caught 
before.  They  nested  along  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  but  it  was  too  precipitous  to  be  climbed 
by  even  the  nimblest  foot  or  the  steadiest 
head,  and  the  fisher-folk  had  their  own 
methods  of  catching  the  birds. 

The  lad  had  evidently  located  the  particu- 
lar spot  he  was  in  search  of,  and  had  taken  its 
bearings  from  his  boat  in  passing.  Nanny 


264  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

saw  him  uncoil  a  length  of  line  baited  with  a 
piece  of  fish  on  the  end  of  a  sharp  hook.  The 
line  was  lowered  slowly  down  to  a  depth  of 
about  twenty  feet,  until  it  dangled  over  a 
narrow  ledge  of  rock  on  which  a  row  of  young 
guillemots  were  squatting  in  the  sunshine. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  he  secured  his 
prey.  At  last  an  unwary  bird  swallowed  the 
bait.  The  sharp  hook  did  its  work,  and 
beating  its  wings  and  struggling  vainly  the 
bird  was  drawn  to  the  top  and  grasped  in  the 
boy's  hand.  Nanny  knew  what  would  happen 
to  it.  Its  fate  would  not  be  an  unhappy  one, 
but  its  wild  freedom  was  gone.  Its  wings 
would  be  clipped,  and  it  would  be  kept  in 
some  old  woman's  garden  to  act  as  scavenger. 
Its  voracious  appetite  would  protect  her 
potato  patch  from  being  devoured  by  slugs 
and  insects.  The  village  people  had  primi- 
tive but  effective  ways  of  their  own  for  doing 
their  work. 

The  lad  coiled  up  his  line  and  went  off  with 
his  prize,  but  his  presence  on  the  cliff  had 
caused  a  commotion  amongst  the  birds,  which 


Nanny  Watches  the  Yacht       265 

did  not  subside  for  some  little  while.  They 
swooped  and  swirled  in  white  flocks,  about  the 
place  where  Nanny  was  sitting,  the  sunlight 
glancing  on  their  wings  and  turning  them  to 
silver.  Sometimes  they  came  quite  near  her, 
uttering  their  harsh,  piercing  cries — some- 
times they  circled  far  out  over  the  water  and 
became  mere  white  specks  against  the  blue. 

The  sultry  weather  had  exploded  in  a 
thunder-storm  the  night  before,  and  the  at- 
mosphere was  peculiarly  clear  and  transparent. 
Nanny  found  herself  watching  one  particular 
white  speck  which  did  not  soar  and  circle  as 
did  the  others.  It  was  very  small  at  first, 
but  it  grew  steadily  larger,  and  after  gazing 
at  it  intently  for  some  minutes,  she  knew  that 
it  was  not  a  sea-bird,  but  a  vessel  of  some 
sort  with  a  white  hull. 

It  was  still  a  long  distance  off,  and  she 
could  not  see  its  lines  distinctly.  If  it  followed 
the  ordinary  track  of  steamers,  it  would  pass 
too  far  out  to  be  recognisable  by  the  naked 
eye. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  the  book  rolled 


266  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  fell  with  a  splash 
into  the  water  below,  but  she  took  no  notice. 
She  ran  back  up  the  steep  bank,  through  the 
gateway  into  the  ruins,  and  across  the  garden 
into  the  porch. 

Sir  Andrew's  telescope  hung  in  a  leather 
case  just  inside  the  door,  and  she  took  it  down 
from  its  stand  and  hurried  back  to  her  nest 
on  the  cliff -side.  Even  during  the  few  minutes 
whilst  she  had  been  absent,  she  could  see  that 
the  white  object  had  changed  in  form.  It  had 
lengthened  out  and  the  hull  was  visible  from 
stem  to  stern. 

Nanny  propped  the  telescope  against  a 
ledge  of  rock,  and  adjusted  the  sighting.  Her 
fingers  were  trembling  so  much  that  she  could 
hardly  make  them  do  what  she  wanted,  and 
when  she  tried  to  focus  the  distance,  nothing 
but  a  blurred  mass  of  moving  water  rocked 
before  her  eyes.  Gradually  the  mist  cleared. 
She  had  got  the  sighting  right,  and  in  another 
second  the  white  bows  ought  to  cross  the 
round  disc  of  blue  on  which  her  gaze  was 
concentrated. 


Nanny  Watches  the  Yacht       267 

She  held  her  breath  as  the  sharp  nose  of 
the  bowsprit  shot  into  view,  and  the  sunlight 
struck  on  the  golden  wings  which  spread  fan- 
like  from  the  body  of  the  figure-head.  There 
were  the  graceful  lines  of  the  fore-deck:  the 
two  cream-coloured  funnels  tipped  with  bands 
of  black:  the  windows  of  the  deck  cabins: 
the  flutter  of  the  Union  Jack  as  the  white 
stern  glided  out  of  the  range  of  vision. 

It  was  the  Katinata!  She  seemed  so  near 
that  Nanny  felt  that  if  she  cried  out,  her  voice 
must  be  heard  by  those  on  board.  She  could 
not  see  any  figures  distinctly,  for  the  yacht 
had  been  built  for  heavy  seas,  and  her  bul- 
warks were  unusually  high,  and  she  was  still 
a  long  way  out. 

She  took  her  eyes  away  from  the  telescope. 
She  could  judge  better  what  the  Katinata  was 
going  to  do  without  its  help.  She  was  evi- 
dently not  coming  in  nearer  land:  she  was 
steering  a  straight  course  up  the  Firth.  At 
the  speed  she  was  making  she  would  be  safely 
anchored  off  Leith  docks  in  a  few  hours'  time. 

What  did  it  mean?    Nanny  wondered;  and 


268  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

was  Jim  on  board?  He  would  know  his 
bearings;  he  would  know  that  he  must  pass 
Pittivie,  and  the  Castle  Rock  was  a  landmark 
for  miles  along  that  flat  coast,  which  could 
not  fail  to  be  seen.  What  was  his  object  in 
passing  on,  if  he  were  to  keep  his  promise  to 
be  at  Pittivie  the  next  day? 

Her  brain  was  in  a  whirl  of  excitement, 
and  then  she  remembered  Captain  Craggs's 
proverbial  caution.  He  would  not  trust  any 
anchorage,  unless  he  was  quite  sure  of  its 
safety.  An  impatient  sigh  escaped  her.  She 
re-adjusted  the  position  of  the  telescope,  and 
directed  it  again  on  the  yacht. 

The  Katinata  was  steaming  from  her  rap- 
idly. Her  bows  were  turning  gradually  away, 
until  before  long  it  was  only  the  white  stern 
which  presented  itself  to  her  strained  sight. 
Then  that  also  became  faint  and  indistinct. 
It  dwindled  into  a  tiny  speck,  and  was  lost 
sight  of  as  the  western  sun  gathered  it  up 
into  a  shimmer  of  dazzling  light. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


TIM  was  not  on  board  the  Katinata  when 
she  passed  up  the  Firth. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  he  might 
have  taken  the  cruise  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  being  on  the  sea  instead  of  on  land,  but  he 
had  a  great  deal  to  do  before  he  could  return 
to  Pittivie,  and  he  had  barely  the  inside  of  a 
week  to  do  it  in. 

The  days  had  seemed  to  his  impatience  to 
pass  slowly  enough,  but  it  was  an  easier  time 
of  waiting  for  him  than  it  was  for  Nanny.  The 
one  who  goes  out  into  the  world  finds  dis- 
traction at  every  turn  to  keep  his  mind  from 
dwelling  too  closely  on  self;  it  is  the  one  who 
is  left  behind,  amidst  the  familiar  associations 
which  remind  but  do  not  distract,  who  feels 
the  loneliness  of  a  separation  most  keenly. 

269 


270  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

In  London  Jim  found  every  minute  of  his 
time  occupied.  He  had  been  out  of  England 
for  so  long  and  he  had  not  been  in  a  state  of 
mind  during  his  absence  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion to  home  affairs,  and  consequently  many 
things  required  his  presence.  He  was  a  rich 
man,  and  had  landed  interests  in  the  country 
as  well  as  personal  property.  If  all  went  well, 
and  he  was  full  of  hope  that  now  that  he  was 
to  be  released  from  his  false  position  all  would 
be  well,  his  idea  was  to  take  Nanny  away  from 
associations  which  could  not  fail  to  remind  her 
of  past  unhappiness,  and  he  wished  to  make 
all  arrangements  for  that  to  be  possible,  be- 
fore he  returned  to  Pittivie. 

She  loved  a  wandering  life  as  much  as  he 
did.  They  would  explore  fresh  countries,  and 
revisit  old  scenes,  and  live  over  again  the  good 
times  which  they  had  spent  together  during 
those  two  years  which  had  followed  their 
marriage. 

He  made  his  plans  accordingly.  He  sent 
instructions  to  Captain  Craggs  regarding  the 
yacht,  and  when  and  where  it  was  to  meet 


What  Made  Jim  Miss  His  Train  271 

him,  and  waded  through  piles  of  correspond- 
ence, and  business  with  his  lawyer. 

One  task  he  set  himself  to  do  which  he 
disliked  extremely.  He  settled,  provisionally, 
for  the  allowance  to  be  paid  for  Mr.  Maynard. 
If  Nanny  agreed  to  the  arrangement,  it  would 
simplify  matters  to  have  everything  planned 
beforehand,  and  then  the  subject  need  never 
be  referred  to  again.  It  would  be  purely  a 
business  transaction,  and  would  require  nc 
personal  interference  on  his  side. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  he  intended  to 
travel  north,  he  found  to  his  annoyance, 
that  he  would  be  obliged  to  go  down  to  his 
own  place  in  the  country  for  the  day.  The 
affair  concerned  some  matter  which  it  would 
be  easy  to  settle  by  word  of  mouth,  but  diffi- 
cult to  explain  in  writing. 

After  the  first  sensation  of  annoyance  had 
passed  off,  he  began  to  think  that  it  would 
be  rather  a  good  way  of  spending  the  day, 
and  there  was  nothing  particular  left  for 
him  to  do  in  town.  It  was  only  a  matter  of 
two  or  three  hours  in  the  train,  and  he  would 


272  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

have  the  freshness  of  the  country  in  exchange 
for  the  heat  and  noise  of  London.  He  could 
be  back  in  plenty  of  time  to  dine,  and  catch 
the  night  mail  to  the  north  at  the  hour  that 
he  had  originally  intended  to  start. 

The  peace  of  the  country  appealed  to  him, 
and  he  was  in  the  mood  to  appreciate  it.  As 
he  watched  scene  after  scene  glide  past  the 
carriage  window  his  spirits  rose  at  the  thought 
that  the  week  of  waiting  was  almost  over. 
To-morrow,  he  devoutly  hoped  would  see  the 
last  cloud  roll  away  between  himself  and  those 
he  loved.  He  was  sure  Nanny  would  take  him 
back  to  her  heart,  and  forgive  him  the  wrong 
he  had  done  her.  Her  generous  nature  would 
understand  the  burden  which  had  been  laid 
upon  him.  He  believed  she  would  have  for- 
given him  and  taken  him  back  that  evening 
in  the  old  garden  at  Pittivie,  when  he  had 
told  her  as  much  as  he  could  of  the  truth. 
She  had  not  sent  him  away,  she  had  made  it 
very  hard  for  him  to  go ;  but  he  had  gone,  and 
he  was  glad  now  that  he  had  gone.  When  he 
met  her  to-morrow,  there  would  no  longer  be 


What  Made  Jim  Miss  His  Train  273 

any  need  to  keep  his  love  in  check.  His  mind 
was  full  of  thoughts  of  what  he  would  do  to 
try  and  make  amends  to  her  for  all  that  she 
had  suffered. 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  transact  his 
business,  and  after  it  was  over,  it  interested 
him  to  wander  about  the  place. 

There  was  only  a  caretaker  and  his  wife  in 
charge,  so  that  he  could  go  where  he  liked 
without  interference.  Things  were  rather 
going  to  bits,  he  concluded.  He  had  not 
lived  in  his  old  home  since  his  father's  death, 
and  the  house  had  stood  empty  for  some 
years.  When  he  and  Nanny  grew  tired  of 
travelling  they  would  come  and  live  there, 
and  Nanny  would  have  to  settle  down  into  a 
sedate  matron.  He  smiled  to  himself  at  the 
idea.  Nanny  would  never  be  different  to 
what  she  was,  and  he  did  not  wish  her  to  be 
different. 

There  were  a  couple  of  Shetland  ponies 
cropping  the  grass  just  inside  the  park  fence 
and  he  leant  over  the  railing  and  looked  at 
them  critically.  The  one  nearest  him  was 


18 


274  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

not  much  bigger  than  a  Newfoundland  dog. 
He  jumped  the  fence  like  a  schoolboy,  and 
went  up  to  the  little  creature,  which  was 
evidently  accustomed  to  being  handled,  and 
showed  no  fear  of  him. 

He  felt  it  all  over  and  looked  at  its  mouth. 
Just  the  kind  of  beast  for  a  small  child  to  ride 
as  soon  as  it  could  hold  a  rein  in  its  hand. 

The  caretaker's  wife  gave  him  tea  before 
he  started  on  his  return  journey  to  the  station. 
As  she  had  no  dainties  to  offer,  she  had  boiled 
an  egg  for  him  and  there  was  home-made 
bread. 

It  was  delightfully  primitive,  and  reminded 
him  of  the  many  odd  meals  he  and  Nanny 
had  shared  together  in  their  travels.  He 
wished  she  were  sitting  beside  him  at  that 
moment. 

He  allowed  himself  plenty  of  time  at  the 
station  to  catch  his  train.  It  was  a  small 
wayside  place,  and  he  would  have  to  travel 
so  far  on  the  local  line  in  order  to  pick  up  the 
London  connection  at  the  nearest  junction. 

The  train  lumbered  into  the  station  twenty 


What  Made  Jim  Miss  His  Train  275 

minutes  late,  and  lumbered  out  again  almost 
as  quickly  as  he  could  have  walked.  He 
began  to  grow  impatient  as  they  stopped  at 
every  station,  and  after  passing  the  third, 
and  going  on  for  a  mile  or  two  and  then  coming 
to  a  standstill,  he  inwardly  vowed  that  if  ever 
he  came  to  live  on  his  ancestral  acres,  he 
would  agitate  for  an  improved  system  of 
railway  communication. 

When  he  was  told  what  had  caused  the 
stoppage,  impatience  turned  to  dismay.  A 
goods  train  had  broken  down  and  the  line 
was  blocked.  There  was  no  staff  of  men  at 
hand  to  help  in  the  emergency ;  it  would  be  a 
matter  of  an  hour  or  two  before  the  way  could 
be  cleared  to  let  the  passenger  train  through. 

There  was  no  good  in  being  angry.  Jim 
took  off  his  coat  and  lent  a  helping  hand  to 
clear  away  the  broken  truck.  He  was  not 
much  use  perhaps,  as  his  fingers  had  not  yet 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  his  accident,  but 
his  example  counted  for  something,  and  a 
few  of  the  other  passengers  followed  his  lead. 
Their  exertions,  nevertheless,  did  not  save 


276  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

them  from  missing  the  connection  at  the 
junction.  There  was  a  long  dreary  wait  for 
a  slow  train,  and  Jim  arrived  in  London  just 
five  minutes  too  late  to  catch  the  last  express 
north. 

He  drove  to  his  club,  and  asking  for  a  time- 
table, tried  to  work  out  his  journey  for  the 
next  day.  By  some  means  or  other  he  was 
determined  to  reach  Pittivie  by  the  following 
night.  He  found  that  by  leaving  London  in 
the  morning  he  could  be  in  the  northern 
capital  about  six  o'clock,  but  could  not  con- 
tinue his  journey  to  Pittivie  till  very  late.  If 
the  London  train  was  not  up  to  time  he  might 
not  be  able  to  get  on  at  all. 

There  was  the  yacht  to  fall  back  upon. 
If  Captain  Craggs  had  been  able  to  follow 
out  his  instructions,  she  ought  by  now  to  be 
snugly  anchored  off  Leith.  Jim  had  told 
Captain  Craggs  to  wire  of  his  safe  arrival,  and 
when  he  asked  if  there  were  any  letters  or 
telegrams  he  was  brought  a  pile  of  letters 
and  a  telegram  lay  on  the  top. 

It  was  all  right. 


What  Made  Jim  Miss  His  Train   277 

The  Katinata  had  made  her  voyage  up  to 
time.  His  way  was  now  clear  before  him. 
He  would  send  a  wire  to  the  yacht  in  the 
morning:  he  would  go  direct  from  the  train 
down  to  the  docks,  and  would  find  steam  up, 
and  every  thing  ready  to  start  at  a  moment's 
notice  for  Pittivie.  He  might  arrive  late, 
but  anyhow  he  would  be  able  to  keep  his 
word  to  be  with  Nanny  on  the  day  he  had 
promised. 

He  pushed  the  time-table  away  from  him, 
and  picking  up  his  letters,  sat  down  in  an  arm- 
chair to  read  them.  The  handwriting  on  the 
first  envelope  he  opened  was  uncomfortably 
familiar,  and  a  quick  look  of  alarm  came  into 
his  face  as  he  noticed  that  the  postmark  was 
that  of  Pittivie. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TWO   RUNAWAYS   ON  AN   EXCURSION  STEAMER 

ANN  Y  did  not  fall  asleep  the  night 
before  Jim  was  to  arrive  at  Pittivie, 
for  long,  and  she  woke  with  the  first  faint 
glimmer  of  dawn  as  the  birds  began  to  twitter 
in  the  garden  below  her  window. 

The  sight  of  the  Katinata  steaming  up  the 
Firth  had  filled  her  mind  with  all  manner  of 
possibilities. 

Jim  might  be  at  Pittivie  by  mid-day,  and 
even  if  he  did  not  come  by  the  first  train  in 
the  morning,  he  would  still  arrive  in  time  for 
dinner. 

The  early  hours  of  the  day  were  spent  in 
a  state  of  feverish  expectancy,  and  she  kept 
out  of  the  way  of  the  household  as  much  as 
she  could,  so  that  her  anxiety  might  not  be 
observed. 

278 


Two  Runaways  on  a  Steamer     279 

Lunch-time  came  and  went,  and  still  there 
was  no  sign  of  Jim  and  no  message. 

Her  fever  of  expectancy  turned  to  a  kind  of 
panic.  All  of  a  sudden  she  felt  that  she  was 
afraid  to  meet  him.  It  was  an  intangible  fear, 
which  she  could  neither  reason  out,  nor  over- 
come. Every  moment  was  bringing  him 
nearer  to  her.  She  did  not  doubt  that  he 
would  keep  his  word  and  come,  and  this 
absurd  feeling  of  panic,  this  agony  of  self- 
consciousness,  was  making  her  long  to  stop 
time,  and  gain  a  reprieve. 

She  had  gone  out  into  the  garden  and  was 
leaning  over  the  low  wall  by  the  edge  of  the 
cliff.  Down  below,  she  saw  that  the  Bonny 
Meg  was  moored  alongside  of  the  steps  cut 
in  the  rock,  and  Sandy  was  toiling  up  the 
bank  with  his  creel  on  his  shoulder. 

He  was  earlier  than  usual  in  delivering  his 
fish,  but  he  had  some  business  of  his  own  to 
transact  that  afternoon  and  had  only  stayed 
out  long  enough  to  catch  what  was  required 
for  the  castle  use. 

An  idea  occurred  to  Nanny  on  the  impulse 


280  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

of  the  moment.  Everything  she  did  that 
day,  she  reflected  afterwards,  was  done  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment. 

She  was  waiting  for  Sandy  when  he  reached 
the  gate  leading  into  the  ruins,  and  asked  him 
if  he  would  take  her  out  in  his  boat. 

Sandy  looked  perplexed. 

He  never  liked  to  refuse  the  gentry  any- 
thing. It  was  an  honour  to  do  them  service ; 
but  he  hesitatingly  explained  that  he  had 
intended  to  make  an  expedition  that  afternoon 
further  up  the  coast  to  one  of  the  small  fishing 
towns  which  was  of  more  importance  than 
Pittivie.  It  owned  a  net  factory,  and  he  was 
going  to  buy  a  new  fishing  net,  which  was  a 
great  event  in  his  simple  life. 

"But  you  can  take  me  all  the  same,"  said 
Nanny,  quickly.  "Whilst  you  are  buying  your 
net,  you  can  leave  me  in  the  boat.  I  am  going 
to  get  ready,  and  I  am  going  to  take  the  baby 
with  me."  And  not  waiting  to  hear  whether 
he  agreed  to  her  proposal  or  not,  she  ran  back 
into  the  house. 

The  baby  was  awake,  and  she  dressed  it 


Two  Runaways  on  a  Steamer     281 

hurriedly.  Neither  Lulu  nor  Sir  Andrew  were 
to  be  seen  anywhere,  but  she  left  a  message  to 
say  where  she  had  gone,  and  remembered  to 
put  her  purse  in  her  pocket,  because  she  always 
gave  Sandy  something  when  he  took  her  out 
for  a  sail.  As  she  passed  through  the  hall 
she  caught  up  a  plaid  and  threw  it  over  her 
arm.  It  was  a  warm  day,  but  it  might  be 
chilly  for  the  child  on  the  water. 

Sandy  was  ready  for  her,  and  the  Bonny 
Meg  was  soon  under  way.  The  breeze  fa- 
voured them,  and  Nanny  was  disappointed  to 
find  how  quickly  they  slipped  through  the 
water.  The  expedition  would  not  last  nearly 
so  long  as  she  had  hoped.  It  seemed  only  a 
few  minutes  from  the  time  they  had  left  the 
Castle  Cliff,  to  the  time  when  Sandy  steered 
into  the  harbour  of  the  fishing  town  where 
he  had  come  to  buy  his  net. 

Nanny  did  not  object  to  being  left  alone. 

"I  shall  be  all  right  here,"  she  said,  after 
he  had  secured  the  boat  to  the  side  of  the 
quay.  "You  can  stay  as  long  as  you  like." 

She  leant  back  in  the  seat  and   watched 


282  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

what  was  going  on  around  her.  She  knew 
the  fisher-folk  and  their  ways,  and  had  an 
instinctive  love  for  anything  that  wore  a 
blue  jersey  and  smelt  of  the  sea. 

A  harbour  was  always  interesting.  Close 
by,  a  Norwegian  barque  was  unloading  wood. 
Its  hull  was  painted  bright  green,  and  side  by 
side  with  it  was  a  dirty  little  coal-tramp 
sending  up  buckets  of  coal  from  its  hold.  A 
couple  of  trawlers  were  being  provisioned  to 
start  on  the  night's  fishing,  and  to  her  surprise, 
a  passenger  steamer  with  a  red  funnel,  was 
blowing  off  steam  in  the  other  side  of  the 
cobbled  causeway  near  where  the  Bonny  Meg 
was  moored. 

"What  is  that  steamer  doing  here?"  she 
asked  of  a  man  who  was  lounging  against  the 
sea-wall. 

"She's  ane  o'  they  pleesure  trips,"  he 
answered. 

"Where  does  she  go?"  asked  Nanny. 

The  man  pointed  up  the  Firth. 

"She ca's at  mair  nor  ain  place, "  he  replied 
vaguely. 


Two  Runaways  on  a  Steamer     283 

"But  she  comes  back  here?" 

"  Ay,  she  comes  back, "  he  answered.  "The 
folk  mun  cam  back,  ye  ken." 

Nanny  asked  him  to  steady  the  boat  whilst 
she  stepped  out  of  it,  for  she  held  the  child  in 
her  arms.  The  moment  her  feet  were  safely 
on  the  stone  steps  she  ran  up  them  eagerly, 
and  was  across  the  quay  and  on  board  the 
steamer  with  the  red  funnel  before  she  had 
quite  realised  what  she  was  doing. 

An  impulse  had  again  seized  her,  and  she 
obeyed  it  blindly. 

She  was  just  in  time,  for  the  mooring  ropes 
were  thrown  off  a  minute  later  and  the  steamer 
began  to  move.  She  bent  over  the  side  and 
beckoned  to  the  man  from  whom  she  had 
gained  her  information.  He  was  sure  to  know 
Sandy  MacNab,  because  every  one  knew  every 
one  else  in  that  part  of  the  world. 

She  threw  him  a  shilling. 

"Take  care  of  the  boat,"  she  called  out, 
"and  tell  Sandy  that  I  'm  coming  back  soon." 

Nanny  had  never  been  on  an  excursion 
steamer  in  her  life.  Her  experience  of  the  sea 


284  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

was  connected  with  the  yacht,  and  the  com- 
fort and  luxury  of  the  Katinata  approached 
pretty  nearly  to  perfection.  Also,  she  had 
not  taken  any  means  to  verify  the  statement 
of  the  lounger  on  the  quay  as  to  where  the 
steamer  was  really  going.  It  was  not  until 
they  had  called  at  several  places  to  pick  up 
passengers,  and  a  dense  mass  of  humanity 
was  beginning  to  crowd  the  decks  with  a  more 
or  less  hilarious  crowd  of  holiday-makers, 
that  she  ventured  to  ask  when  they  were 
going  to  begin  their  return  journey. 

"We  don't  stop  now  until  we  get  to  Leith, " 
said  the  official,  who  was  making  the  round 
of  the  passengers  and  clipping  their  tickets. 

He  was  much  too  busy  to  take  any  notice 
of  Nanny's  gasp  of  consternation  and  hurried 
questions.  Some  rough-looking  men,  who 
were  not  particularly  sober,  had  come  on 
board  at  the  last  place  where  they  had  stopped 
and  were  inclined  to  give  trouble.  They  re- 
quired all  his  attention. 

Nanny's  consternation  turned  to  anger, 
and  anger  gave  way  to  fright  as  the  crowd 


Two  Runaways  on  a  Steamer    285 

pressed  more  and  more  closely  round  where 
she  was  sitting.  The  people  were  packed  so 
tightly  together  that  she  could  not  see  what 
was  going  on,  and  could  hardly  breathe. 

A  fat  woman,  with  a  kindly  red  face,  was 
wedged  in  on  one  side  of  her,  and  a  man  with 
a  black  bottle  bulging  out  of  his  pocket  was 
leaning  against  her  on  the  other. 

He  leered  at  her,  and  offered  her  the  black 
bottle,  and  she  recoiled  in  horror  against  the 
fat  woman,  who  tried  to  shelter  her  as  well 
as  space  would  allow. 

"It 's  a  sair  press  o'  folk, "  said  the  woman, 
wiping  her  hot  forehead.  "I  'm  no'  for  they 
pleesure  trips  mysel',  but  ma  lassie  thocht 
it  wud  be  a  fine  outin'.  She  's  lyin*  doon  the 
stair  that  seek,  she  canna'  lift  her  heid." 

Nanny's  fears  deepened  as  the  black  bottles 
began  to  circulate  and  the  crowd  grew  noisier. 
They  hemmed  her  in  more  tightly  than  before, 
and  the  atmosphere  was  stifling. 

The  baby  fortunately  had  dropped  asleep 
and  she  prayed  fervently  that  it  would  not 
wake  until  they  reached  the  land.  Would 


286  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

the  journey  never  end?  she  wondered.  No- 
thing would  persuade  her  to  return  the  way 
she  had  come.  Once  on  shore  again,  she  did 
not  know  what  she  intended  to  do,  but  she 
would  surely  find  some  one  who  could  direct 
her.  If  it  was  too  late  to  get  back  to  Pittivie 
by  train,  she  must  stay  the  night  somewhere, 
and  go  on  the  next  morning. 

She  wondered  if  she  had  enough  money 
with  her?  She  would  have  liked  to  look  in 
her  purse  to  make  sure,  but  she  was  afraid 
to  take  her  arm  away  from  the  baby  in  case 
the  movement  might  waken  it. 

Surely  they  must  be  nearing  some  big  port 
now,  she  thought,  because  she  could  hear  the 
shrill  blasts  of  steam  whistles,  and  the  occa- 
sional hoot  of  a  horn.  Then  there  was  the 
sensation  of  slowing  down  to  half -speed;  the 
engines  were  reversed,  and  she  heard  the  screw 
churning  the  water.  A  soft  bumping  sound, 
and  a  slight  tremor  ran  through  the  vessel 
from  stem  to  stern  as  she  drew  in  slowly 
against  the  side  of  the  pier. 

Nanny  would  have  been  wiser  to  have 


Two  Runaways  on  a  Steamer    287 

waited  until  the  rush  to  cross  the  gangway 
was  over,  but  she  allowed  herself  to  be  borne 
along  with  the  crowd.  Rain  had  commenced 
to  fall  heavily,  and  she  had  wrapped  the 
plaid  over  the  child,  almost  suffocating  it  in 
her  efforts  to  keep  it  from  being  hustled  out  of 
her  arms. 

It  began  to  struggle  and  whimper,  and 
she  half-lost  her  balance  stepping  from  the 
gangway  on  to  the  slippery  stones  of  the 
pier. 

The  crowd  was  almost  as  dense  there  as  on 
the  deck  of  the  steamer.  Like  a  flock  of 
bewildered  sheep,  the  people  did  not  seem  to 
know  which  way  they  wanted  to  go,  and 
swayed  perilously  near  the  edge  of  the  wooden 
platform. 

Looking  down  at  the  water,  she  saw  some- 
thing which  made  her  cry  out  aloud  in  the 
excess  of  her  joy  and  relief. 

One  of  the  Katinata's  boats  was  lying  close 
in  under  the  shelter  of  the  pier.  A  man  in 
the  bows  was  holding  on  with  a  boat-hook, 
and  gradually  guiding  it  towards  a  landing- 


288  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

stage  on  a  level  with  the  water.  He  had  his 
back  to  her,  and  she  could  not  attract  his 
attention.  She  saw  the  nutter  of  the  black 
ribbons  which  hung  down  from  the  side  of 
his  cap,  and  once,  when  he  half -turned,  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  last  three  letters  of 
the  yacht's  name  on  the  breast  of  his  jersey. 

It  was  maddening!  Her  voice  sounded 
faint  even  to  her  own  ears.  She  would  never 
make  him  hear,  and  she  could  not  fight  her 
way  towards  him  through  the  surging  mass 
of  people. 

Someone  lurched  against  her,  and  she  looked 
over  her  shoulder  to  see  that  it  was  the  man 
with  the  black  bottle  who  had  frightened  her 
on  the  steamer. 

He  was  holding  on  to  a  wooden  post^and 
talking  to  it. 

"If  I  let  go,  I  '11  fa'  doon,  an'  if  I  hud  on, 
1 11  miss  ma  train,"  he  was  repeating  with 
maudlin  solemnity. 

Suddenly  the  crowd  parted  for  a  moment, 
as  though  some  one  were  trying  to  force  their 
way  through  it.  Nanny  saw  two  of  the 


Two  Runaways  on  a  Steamer    289 

Katinata's  crew,  each  with  a  portmanteau 
across  his  shoulders,  and  a  tall  man  in  grey 
clothes  walking  behind.  Then  the  surging 
mass  of  human  beings  closed  in  about  her 
once  more. 

She  made  a  desperate  effort,  and  called  out 
something,  but  she  knew  that  it  was  not 
heard. 

Her  cry  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
drunken  man.  He  stretched  out  a  hand  and 
caught  hold  of  the  plaid  which  was  wrapped 
over  the  baby.  It  came  away  in  his  grasp, 
and  the  little  white  sunbonnet  came  with  it. 

A  child's  cry  of  fear  ran  out  shrilly,  and 
was  repeated  again  and  again.  The  man  still 
kept  his  hold  of  the  plaid,  and  the  rank  smell 
of  raw  spirits  fanned  Nanny's  cheek,  and  she 
felt  a  nauseating  sense  of  deadly  sickness, 
draining  all  the  strength  out  of  her  limbs. 

As  she  was  faintly  wondering  if  she  could 
possibly  stand  up  for  one  minute  longer,  she 
saw  the  man  in  the  grey  clothes  elbowing  the 
crowd  from  right  to  left  of  him,  as  though  they 
had  been  so  many  flies.  She  had  a  confused 

19 


290  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

idea  of  seeing  the  drunken  man  caught  by 
his  collar  and  crumpled  up  into  a  heap  at 
her  feet.  She  felt  that  the  weight  she  held 
in  her  arms  was  slipping  from  her,  and  then 
— she  remembered  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

I  WANT   YOU   TO  FORGIVE  YOURSELF 

MANNY  had  never  fainted  in  her  life. 
The  nearest  approach  to  it  had  been 
when  she  saw  Jim  carried  through  the  gate 
at  Pittivie  on  the  day  of  his  accident. 

When  she  came  to  herself,  she  thought  at 
first  that  she  had  awakened  out  of  her  sleep 
and  had  been  dreaming  a  bad  dream. 

She  was  lying  down,  and  everything  about 
her  was  very  quiet.  She  lay  still,  with  her 
eyes  open,  and  gradually  it  dawned  upon  her 
that  her  surroundings  were  familiar,  but  that 
she  was  not  in  her  own  room  at  Pittivie. 

In  her  dream  she  had  been  very  wet  and 
uncomfortable.  Her  hands,  when  she  looked 
down  at  them,  rested  on  something  soft  and 
white  which  wrapped  her  from  head  to  foot; 
there  was  a  familiarity  about  the  feeling  of 

291 


292  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

it,  and  memory  rushed  back  with  a  bound. 
She  was  in  her  own  cabin  on  the  Katinata, 
and  this  was  her  own  dressing-gown. 

She  started  and  sat  upright,  to  find  herself 
pulled  gently  back  against  the  cushions  of 
her  couch  and  Jim's  voice  saying  in  her  ear, 
"Lie  still,  Nanny.  You  're  all  right.  I  'm 
here." 

She  struggled  to  sit  up  again,  and  when  she 
found  that  she  was  too  tightly  held  to  get  her 
own  way,  she  turned  her  head  back  until  she 
could  see  his  face. 

He  looked  rather  white  and  anxious.  It 
had  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  taken  an 
unconscionably  long  time  to  come  to  her 
senses.  He  was  in  complete  ignorance  as  to 
what  had  happened  before  the  child's  cry 
had  brought  him  on  the  scene  on  the  pier. 
He  had  only  been  in  time  to  throw  off  the 
man's  hold.  As  Nanny  had  lain  white  and 
still  in  his  arms,  he  had  been  possessed  with  a 
horrible  dread  that  she  had  been  hit  or  hurt 
in  some  way  to  cause  her  to  go  off  in  such  a 
dead  faint. 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    293 

A  look  of  alarm  sprang  into  her  eyes. 
Nanny  never  did  things  by  halves.  She  had 
been  insensible  the  minute  before,  she  was 
now  vividly  conscious  and  all  her  senses  on 
the  alert. 

"Why  do  you  look  like  that?"  she  de- 
manded. "Is  there  anything  the  matter? 
Did  I  let  baby  fall? "  and  the  look  of  alarm 
in  her  eyes  deepened. 

Jim  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  There  could  not 
be  much  the  matter  with  her  when  she  was 
so  like  her  own  eager  self  again. 

"The  child  's  all  right,"  he  said,  and  he 
smoothed  back  the  hair  which  was  tumbling 
over  her  forehead. 

Nanny  still  resisted. 

"Where  is  she?"  she  asked,  looking  anx- 
iously round  the  cabin.  "Tell  me,  Jim.  Let 
me  go  to  her.  Don't  hold  me  so  tight." 

His  arms  closed  all  the  more  firmly  around 
her. 

"  What  a  little  wild  thing  you  are,  Nanny, " 
he  said  tenderly.  "I  won't  let  you  go.  You 
can't  get  away  from  me.  The  child's  per- 


294  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

fectly  right,  and  as  safe  as  possible.  She  's 
with  her  nurse, "  he  added. 

"Nurse!"  repeated  Nanny.  "What  do 
you  mean?  Who  's  her  nurse?" 

Jim  smiled.  "You  'd  never  guess;  so  I 
may  as  well  tell  you.  Mrs.  Craggs. " 

"Mrs.  Craggs?    What  is  she  doing  here?" 

"I  allowed  old  Craggs  to  bring  his  good 
lady  with  him  on  the  trip  north, "  said  Jim. 
"He  's  been  away,  you  see,  for  more  than  a 
year,  and  it  was  rather  rough  luck  ordering 
him  off  again  at  such  short  notice.  She  had  n't 
left  when  we  got  you  on  board.  I  bundled 
the  child  into  her  arms  when  I  carried  you 
down  here — now  are  you  satisfied?" 

"No,"  said  Nanny  quickly.  "The  poor 
little  darling  will  be  starving.  We  were  such 
hours  and  hours  on  that  dreadful  steamer, 
and  it  must  be  ages  past  her  supper-time. 
Will  Mrs.  Craggs  know  what  to  give  her?" 

"If  you  promise  to  lie  quite  still,  and  not 
move  until  I  come  back,  I  '11  go  and  see,"  he 
said. 

"I  promise,"  she  answered,  and  leant  back 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    295 

with  a  tired  look  on  her  face.  "I  do  feel 
rather  shaky." 

"I  believe  you  're  done  up  for  want  of  food, 
too,"  said  Jim.  "When  did  you  have  any- 
thing last?" 

Nanny  admitted  that  she  had  eaten  hardly 
any  lunch,  and  nothing  since. 

"And  it 's  now  getting  on  for  eight  o'clock? 
I  'm  not  going  to  allow  you  to  talk,  or  ask 
questions,  or  do  anything  else,  until  you've 
had  some  dinner.  I  '11  order  it  to  be  brought 
in  here  and  then  you  won't  have  to  move." 

He  crossed  to  the  door  and  touched  an 
electric  bell.  When  the  steward  came,  she 
heard  him  give  some  orders  and  the  man's 
answer. 

"In  ten  minutes?  Yes,  sir.  And  the 
champagne?  We  have  ice  on  board,  sir." 

Then  Jim  went  out  and  closed  the  door 
quietly  behind  him. 

Nanny  was  content.  It  was  joy  to  be  able 
to  lie  still  and  know  that  he  was  near.  The 
old  feeling  of  comfort  and  dependence  on  him 
crept  back  to  her  heart.  The  remembrance 


296  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

of  the  loneliness  and  weight  of  responsibility, 
and  the  unshared  griefs  of  the  past  year, 
faded  from  her.  Through  her  half-closed 
eyes  she  took  in  all  the  familiar  details  of  her 
surroundings.  There  was  the  element  of 
home  in  every  touch.  Her  favourite  books! 
The  well-known  pictures!  The  soft  colouring 
of  the  furniture!  Even  the  flowers  scattered 
about  were  her  favourite  flowers — nothing 
seemed  changed.  The  hands  of  time  must 
surely  have  stood  still.  It  could  not  possibly 
be  more  than  a  year  since  she  had  left  it  all? 

She  shut  her  eyes  tightly  for  a  minute  to 
hide  it  out,  so  that  when  she  looked  again  she 
might  be  quite  sure  that  it  was  not  all  a  fancy 
of  her  brain.  She  opened  them  to  find  that 
Jim  was  bending  over  her.  He  had  come  in 
so  quietly  through  the  door  leading  into  his 
own  cabin  that  she  had  not  heard  him. 

He  drew  a  chair  close  up  to  her  couch  and 
sat  down. 

"Well?"  she  asked.  "What  are  they 
doing  with  baby?" 

The  anxious  expression  had  left  his  face. 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    297 

"She's  settled  in  the  best  state  cabin," 
he  said,  "and  every  man  jack  of  them  from 
old  Craggs  downwards,  has  been  allowed  to 
look  at  her  through  the  door.  She  's  sitting 
there  like  a  little  queen,  and  looks  as  if  she  'd 
been  accustomed  to  the  show  all  her  life." 

Nanny  laughed  softly. 

"Wasn't  she  very  hungry?"  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  's  got  in  her  mouth," 
said  Jim,  gravely.  "But  she  's  pulling  at  it 
in  such  a  desperate  hurry  that  Mrs.  Craggs 
has  to  hold  on  to  the  other  end  to  keep  her 
from  swallowing  it.  They  sent  ashore  for  all 
sorts  of  odd  things." 

He  bent  over  her. 

"Nanny,"  he  said,  "what  were  you  doing 
in  that  awful  rabble?  How  did  you  know 
where  I  was?  What  put  it  into  your  head 
to  come  and  meet  me?  " 

The  colour  sprang  into  Nanny's  cheeks. 
When  she  was  a  little  frightened  her  eyes 
grew  very  bright  and  star-like,  but  she  did 
not  turn  them  away  from  him. 

"I  was  n't  coming  to  meet  you— I  was  run- 


298  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

ning  away  from  you,"  she  faltered;  and  out 
tumbled  her  confession  of  the  day's  adventure, 
very  quickly  and  rather  incoherently. 

"And  you  ran  right  into  my  arms,"  said 
Jim.  "My  dear,  I  think  the  only  safe  thing 
for  me  to  do  is  to  keep  you  afloat.  It  was 
just  a  chance  my  finding  you.  My  train  was 
late.  If  I  'd  been  up  to  time  I  'd  have  missed 
you." 

"Then  you  were  not  on  board  the  Katinata 
when  she  passed  up  yesterday!"  said  Nanny, 
eagerly.  "I  watched  her  through  the  tele- 
scope." 

"Bless  you,  no!"  he  exclaimed  in  surprise. 
"You  don't  suppose  I  'd  have  stayed  here 
for  a  whole  day  doing  nothing?  I  only  left 
town  this  morning,  and  wired  to  have  steam 
up  on  the  yacht  to  take  me  on  to  Pittivie." 

His  hand  went  to  the  pocket  of  his  coat 
and  a  dark  look  came  into  his  eyes.  A  letter 
lay  there  which  had  raised  in  him  a  storm  of 
anger  which  was  all  the  more  fierce  because 
he  had  been  obliged  to  keep  it  in  check. 

And  he  must  still  keep  it  in  check.     He 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    299 

would  not  have  Nanny  distressed  with  any 
trying  scene  yet  awhile.  She  looked  white 
and  shaken;  it  was  not  the  time  to  speak. 

A  tap  came  at  the  door  and  the  steward 
entered  to  prepare  for  dinner. 

The  table  was  arranged  close  to  Nanny's 
couch.  An  electric  lamp  softly  shaded,  threw 
the  light  on  the  white  cloth  and  silver,  and 
there  was  a  bowl  of  Nanny's  favourite  La 
France  roses  on  the  table.  Jim's  memory 
was  very  good,  and  his  instructions  had  been 
carried  out  to  the  letter. 

The  champagne  sparkled,  and  sent  up  its 
little  golden  bubbles  in  the  quaint-shaped 
Venetian  glasses  which  she  remembered  so 
well.  Nanny's  spirits  rose  as  spontaneously 
as  the  bubbles  in  her  glass.  She  wanted  to 
live  for  the  pure  happiness  of  the  present 
moment.  A  fear  was  hanging  over  her  that 
the  time  would  come  all  too  soon,  when  Jim 
would  speak  of  things  which  must  be  said, 
but  of  which  she  was  afraid  to  hear.  He  was 
very  quiet,  and  grew  quieter  as  the  meal  drew 
to  a  close. 


300  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

After  the  table  had  been  cleared,  and  the 
man  had  disappeared  for  the  last  time,  he 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  said  abruptly: 

"The  week  has  come  and  gone  at  last. 
And  now — we  must  have  it  all  out. " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  world  of  love 
and  entreaty  in  her  eyes. 

"You  won't  spoil  it,  Jim?  Oh,  don't — 
please  don't!  It 's  our  first  happy  time  to- 
gether for  so  long,  and  it 's  so  perfect." 

But  he  did  not  answer  her  in  the  way 
she  wished.  His  face  was  white,  and  very 
determined. 

"Listen,"  she  continued  vehemently.  "I 
thought  I  would  not  tell  you  because  it  would 
hurt  you  so;  but  I  will — I  must!  She  came! 
— Yes?"  as  the  light  flashed  into  his  eyes. 
"She  came  the  day  after  you  left,  and  I 
saw  her.  I  was  quite  alone  and  she  could  say 
all  the  wicked,  false  things  which  she  hoped 
would  turn  my  love  for  you  into  hate.  I  had 
to  listen!  Jim,  you  had  given  me  your  word 
that  you  had  never  wronged  me.  It  was  that 
night  in  the  hall  at  Pittivie,  you  remember? 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    301 

I  told  you  that  I  believed  you — and  I  did!  I 
listened  to  what  she  said,  but  I  did  not  be- 
lieve a  single  word — not  one !  I  told  her  they 
were  lies.  I  defied  her  to  the  very  last  minute. 
She  went  away  knowing  that  she  could  never 
have  any  power  over  me  again.  She  had  to 
creep  out  of  the  house  like  a  thief.  She  will 
not  dare  to  come  between  us  again — never!" 

Nanny  stopped,  breathless  with  her  own 
vehemence. 

Jim's  self-control  broke  down.  He  had 
been  afraid  to  allow  his  feelings  to  get  the 
better  of  him — now  he  made  no  effort  to 
check  them.  Nanny's  loyalty,  and  her  love 
for  him  had  been  so  staunch  and  true.  All 
the  chivalry  in  his  nature  went  out  to  her  in  a 
flood  of  pride  and  tenderness. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  as 
he  had  never  kissed  her  before,  even  in  the 
days  of  his  first  passion.  The  pent-up  love 
of  the  past  long  year  of  loneliness  poured  from 
his  lips  in  broken  words,  as  he  strained  her  to 
him,  and  called  her  by  all  the  endearing  names 
she  longed  to  hear  again. 


302  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

She  lay  still  against  his  heart,  and  murmured 
back  tender  words  of  love. 

"It  is  all  to  be  forgotten  as  though  it  had 
never  been,"  she  whispered.  "We  love  each 
other  so.  We  are  together  again." 

Something  seemed  to  recall  him  to  himself. 
He  tried  to  put  her  away  from  him. 

"But  there  are  things  I  must  tell  you,"  he 
said  huskily. 

"No — no,"  she  implored. 

"I  won't  feel  right  until  I  do,"  he  insisted. 
"Nanny,  there  must  never  be  any  secrets 
again  between  us.  Let  me  speak. " 

She  raised  her  head  to  look  at  him. 

"If  it  makes  you  feel  bad,  I  suppose  you 
must.  Say  it  all  quickly.  It  hurts  me  too, 
you  know." 

Then  with  her  hand  still  in  his,  he  told  her 
the  story  of  those  past  days  from  the  time 
when  Sylvia  Maynard  had  first  come  into 
his  life ;  of  how  he  had  broken  his  engagement 
to  her  and  how  terribly  he  had  taken  to  heart 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  been  the  cause  of 
her  miserable  marriage. 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    303 

He  spared  himself  in  no  way,  and  he  told 
her  of  what  he  had  bound  himself  to  do 
in  his  self-reproach.  He  had  tried  to  make 
atonement,  but  it  had  cost  him  his  happiness. 

Nanny  read  between  the  lines  and  saw  the 
story  in  its  true  light. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  never  thrown  a  glamour 
over  her.  She  had  not  trusted  her  from  that 
first  day  when  she  had  seen  her  standing 
looking  up  into  Jim's  face.  She  had  realised 
all  along  that  she  was  making  use  of  Jim's 
generosity  to  suit  her  own  ends. 

For  a  wonder  she  did  not  speak  out  the 
thoughts  which  were  in  her  mind.  Jim  had 
been  very  unhappy  and  miserable.  He  must 
be  comforted.  Now  that  he  was  her  own 
again,  she  wanted  to  make  him  forget  all  that 
he  had  been  made  to  suffer.  v 

"Do  you  feel  better  for  having  told  me?" 
she  said  softly,  when  he  came  to  a  pause. 

To  her  surprise  he  rose,  and  began  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  cabin.  Every 
time  that  he  came  within  reach  of  her  she 
saw  that  the  frown  on  his  brow  had  darkened, 


304  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

and  there  was  a  suppressed  excitement  in  his 
manner. 

He  stopped  before  her  at  last,  and  said 
harshly. 

"Nanny,  you  were  right  when  you  told  me 
that  I  was  blind,  and  that  I  had  allowed  her 
to  make  a  fool  of  me.  But  what  right  had  I 
to  be  blind  when  it  was  you  who  had  to  suffer? 
I  had  no  right  to  sacrifice  my  own  happiness, 
because  it  was  bound  up  in  yours.  Why 
did  n't  I  see?  I  would  n't!  I  was  a  thousand 
times  worse  than  blind.  I  feel  like  a  criminal. 
Think  of  what  I  left  you  to  go  through  this 
past  year!  The  greatest  crisis  in  a  woman's 
life  you  had  to  face  alone !  I  might  have  lost 
you!"  he  exclaimed  passionately,  "and  the 
blame  would  have  lain  at  my  own  door." 

"Jim,  dear,  don't,"  said  Nanny,  reaching 
out  to  try  and  take  his  hand.  She  hated  to 
hear  him  accusing  himself,  but  he  would  not 
be  helped,  or  allow  his  remorse  to  be  softened. 

"You  made  a  splendid  fight,  and  it 's  fair 
you  should  know  the  kind  of  victory  you  have 
won,"  he  said. 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    305 

He  took  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  gave 
it  to  her. 

"Read  that!  You'll  see  how  I've  been 
deceived.  Blind  fool  that  I  was,"  he  added 
bitterly,  "and  I  allowed  myself  to  be  fooled." 

Mrs.  Maynard's  confession  was  not  such  a 
surprise  to  Nanny  as  it  had  been  to  Jim.  It 
had  been  firmly  rooted  in  her  mind  all  along 
that  the  woman  was  false. 

The  letter  was  very  short.  She  read  it 
without  making  any  comment,  and,  putting  it 
back  into  its  envelope,  laid  it  on  the  table. 
She  watched  her  husband  as  he  paced  back- 
wards and  forwards  for  some  time  without 
speaking.  Then  she  said  in  a  voice  which 
was  not  pleading  but  quietly  imperative. 

"Jim,  come  here!" 

He  obeyed,  and  she  drew  him  down  beside 
her.  It  was  with  reluctance  that  he  yielded, 
and  he  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  say  my  prayers  about  it, " 
he  said.  "I  'm  not  in  a  forgiving  mood.  I 
never  will  be." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  his  hair.    He  had 


306  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

ruffled  it  up  over  his  forehead  and  it  made 
him  look  very  angry. 

"You  are  not  to  call  yourself  hard  names," 
she  said.  ' '  You  thought  you  were  acting  from 
a  right  motive.  It  was  your  conscience  which 
made  you  keep  that  promise  of  silence,  Jim." 

"My  conscience!  Damn  my  conscience 
then!"  he  exclaimed  hotly.  "A  conscience 
is  given  you  to  keep  you  straight,  is  n't  it? 
Mine  has  pretty  well  led  me  to  the  devil." 

Her  answer  was  to  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck. 

"Jim,  I  want  you  to  say  that  you  will  for- 
give somebody,"  she  murmured. 

"No,  I  won't, "  he  answered. 

She  put  her  lips  against  his  ear,  and  re- 
peated the  question  again  so  softly  that  it 
was  a  caress. 

"How  can  you  ask  me  to  forgive  her?" 
he  protested.  "  I  can't,  Nanny. " 

"  It 's  not  a  her — it 's  a  him, "  she  whispered. 
"I  want  you  to  forgive  yourself,  Jim.  Say 
that  you  will.  I  won't  be  really  happy  until 
you  do." 


I  Want  You  to  Forgive  Yourself    307 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  silently, 
and  she  saw  the  anger  die  slowly  out  of  his. 
He  drew  her  closer  to  him,  and  his  head 
dropped  on  her  shoulder. 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said  brokenly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

GOOD-BYE   TO  PITTIVIE 

'T'HE  light  had  faded;  the  cabin  was  in 
gloom,  save  where  the  soft  glow  from 
the  electric  lamp  shed  its  radiance,  before 
either  of  them  spoke  again. 

At  last  Nanny  raised  her  head,  and  said 
questioningly: 

"Jim,  we  are  moving?" 

"We  Ve  been  under  way  for  the  last  hour 
or  more,"  he  said. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  will  they 
think  at  Pittivie?" 

"I  sent  them  a  wire,"  he  answered. 

He  rose,  and  going  over  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows looked  out. 

"The  rain  has  cleared  off,"  he  said.  "It 's 
a  lovely  night.  Would  you  like  to  go  on  deck  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Nanny. 
308 


Good-Bye  to  Pittivie  309 

He  glanced  at  her  white  dressing-gown, 
and  opening  one  of  the  cupboards  which  were 
fitted  into  the  cabin  walls,  brought  out  a  long 
coat  of  blue  pilot  cloth. 

"How  do  you  know  where  to  find  my 
things?  "  she  asked,  as  he  buttoned  her  into  it. 

She  moved  her  chin  from  under  his  hand. 

"It  doesn't  look  as  if  a  single  thing  had 
been  changed.  Who  took  care  of  them 
all?" 

"I  did,"  he  answered  shortly.  "No  one 
came  in  here  except  myself.  And  I  didn't 
come  very  often,"  he  added.  "It  made  me 
feel  bad  afterwards.  I  only  sent  them  the 
keys  the  other  day  when  the  place  had  to  be 
put  in  order  for  you." 

As  they  left  the  cabin  Nanny  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"We  '11  go  and  see  the  little  blessing  first. 
I  hope  she's  sound  asleep  by  now." 

They  crept  in  very  quietly,  but  Mrs.  Craggs 
was  much  too  wide  awake  at  her  post  not  to 
hear  the  opening  and  shutting  of  the  door, 
and  she  rose  as  they  entered. 


310  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

Her  husband's  profession  was  somehow 
written  all  over  her.  She  was  round  as  a 
life-buoy,  with  a  head  like  a  cork. 

Nanny  shook  hands  with  her  silently,  and 
bent  over  the  golden  brown  curls  lying  on  the 
pillow. 

"She  won't  be  disturbed  by  us,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  "She  's  accustomed  to  people 
talking  in  the  room.  What  do  you  think  of 
her,  Mrs.  Craggs?" 

Mrs.  Craggs  was  Irish,  and  had  known  Jim 
since  he  was  a  baby  himself. 

"Shure,  an'  is  n  't  she  the  breathin'  picture 
of  the  Captain  himself,"  she  whispered 
hoarsely. 

Nanny's  mouth  formed  itself  into  a  round 
O  of  astonishment. 

"I  never  heard  that  before,"  she  said. 

"And  would  it  be  me  own  eyes  that  would 
be  desaivin*  me,"  protested  Mrs.  Craggs. 
"But  shure  an'  ye  niver  saw  him  when  he 
was  in  pitticoats.  It 's  little  wonder  if  ye 
can't  see  the  likeness  I  mane." 

She  scanned  the  child's  face  critically. 


Good-Bye  to  Pittivie  311 

"Blessin's  on  yir  head,  me  darlint,  but 
it  's  yir  father  that  ye  are,"  she  murmured. 
"Have  n't  I  carried  him  in  me  arms  when  he 
was  no  bigger  than  yir  jewel  of  a  self!" 

"You  '11  be  able  to  think  that  you  're  doing 
the  same  thing  over  again,"  said  Jim.  "Do 
you  know  that  we  've  run  away  with  you, 
Mrs.  Craggs?  You  may  be  boxed  up  on  the 
Katinata  for  the  next  six  months." 

"And  is  n't  it  the  place  I  'd  best  like  to  be 
in,  for  shure,"  she  answered,  looking  up  at 
him  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye  as  he  left  the 
cabin. 

There  was  a  faint  mild  air  blowing  on  deck, 
and  Jim  ordered  chairs  to  be  brought  out  and 
placed  for  them  where  they  could  sit  and 
watch  the  coast  as  it  slipped  past  in  the  semi- 
darkness. 

He  drew  the  hood  of  her  coat  over  Nanny's 
head,  and  wrapped  a  rug  round  her  feet.  She 
saw  him  go  up  to  Captain  Craggs  and  have  a 
discussion  about  something,  and  when  he 
came  back  and  sat  down  beside  her,  he 
said: 


312  The  Yoke  of  Silence 

"Do  you  know  what  we  're  going  to  do?" 

"What?"  she  asked. 

"In  another  hour  or  so  we  ought  to  be  just 
off  Pittivie.  "We  're  going  as  near  as  it  is 
safe  to  go,  and  I  think  we  '11  be  able  to  make 
the  castle  out  quite  distinctly." 

"I  wish  we  could  send  up  rockets,  and 
give  them  some  kind  of  good-bye,"  said 
Nanny.  "  I  feel  so  horrid  about  running  away." 

Jim  laughed. 

"And  have  the  life-boat  turning  out  to  see 
what 's  the  matter?  No,  I  'm  afraid  we  can 
only  wish  them  good-bye  in  our  hearts.  God 
bless  them  all!"  he  added  reverently. 

Nanny  was  the  first  to  see  the  outline  of  the 
Castle  Rock,  and  she  could  tell  each  window 
by  its  twinkling  light. 

Her  heart  was  too  full  for  speech,  and  Jim 
saw  that  there  were  tears  trembling  on  her 
eye-lashes. 

Slowly  the  lights  came  and  went,  fading 
back  into  the  gloom  from  whence  they  had 
sprung.  The  beacon  flash  from  the  Mary 
Isle  swept  across  the  dark  surface  of  the 


Good-Bye  to  Pittivie  313 

water,  and  then  it  also  grew  faint,  and  was 
lost  in  the  soft  dusk  of  the  Northern  light. 

Hand  in  hand  those  two,  whose  love  had 
been  rudely  broken,  and  was  now  bound  to- 
gether again  by  bonds  stronger  and  holier 
than  before,  sat  on  in  a  silence  which  neither 
of  them  wished  to  break. 

There  was  no  burden  on  the  silence.  The 
galling  yoke  was  gone:  it  was  the  silence  of 
perfect  trust. 

THE  END 


'Reading  this  book  is  like  breathing  strong  refreshing  air.' 

N.  Y.  Evening  Sun. 


Bawbee   Jock 

By  Amy  McLaren 

Author  of  "  The  Yoke  of  Silence,"  ete. . 

"Amid  delightful  Highland  scenes  and 
charming  Highland  people  a  very  pretty 
love  duet  is  sung  in  Bawbee  Jock.  ...  A 
refreshing  contrast  to  most  novels  written 
nowadays." — New  York  Sun. 

"One  of  the  most  delightful  love  stories  of 
the  year,  as  fresh  as  the  breath  of  heather  on 
the  Scottish  hills." — Columbus  Journal. 

"Idealistic?    Very.     In  a  way  that  makes 
one  glad  that  stories  such  as  it  still  appear." 
Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

Fifth  Impression.     $1 35  net.     By  mail,  $150 

<• 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers 


The   Most  Popular   Books  in    the 
United  States 

By  Florence  L.  Barclay 

Over    One    Quarter  of  a  Million  Copies  Sold 

The   Rosary 

Popular  Edition.  Cr.  8vo.  $1.35  net.  (SI. SO  by  mall.) 
Holiday  Edition,  with  Illustrations  in  Color  by  Blendon 
Campbell,  and  Decorations  and  Cover  Design  by  Margaret 
Armstrong.  Handsomely  printed  and  bound.  Uniform  •with 
the  Holiday  Edition  of  "  The  Mistress  of  Shenstone."  Svo. 
$2.5O  net. 

"  An  ideal  love  story — one  that  justifies  the  publishing 
business,  refreshes  the  heart  of  the  reviewer,  strengthens 
faith  in  the  outcome  of  the  great  experiment  of  putting 
humanity  on  earth.  The  Rosary  is  a  rare  book,  a  source 
of  genuine  delight." — Syracuse  Post-Standard. 

Over  ISO  Thousand  Sold 

The  Mistress  of  Shenstone 

Popular  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  $1.33  net.  ($1.5O  by  mall.) 
Holiday  Edition,  with  Illustrations  In  Color  by  F.  H.  Town- 
send,  and  Decorations  and  Cover  Design  by  Margaret 
Armstrong.  Handsomely  printed  and  bound.  Uniform  with 
the  Holiday  Edition  of  "  The  Rosary.'*  Svo.  $2.5O  nat. 

"  An  optimistic  novel  of  true  love,  related  with  sincerity. 
...  A  worthy  successor  to  The  Rosary." — Phila.  Press. 

The  Following  of  the  Star 

With  Frontispiece  by  F.  H.  Townsend.     Cr.  Svo. 
$  1 .3d  net.     ($  1 .50  by  mall) 

A  beautiful  Christmas  love  story,  instinct  with  the 
same  depth  of  feeling,  glowing  imagery,  and  refinement  of 
literary  art  as  "  The  Rosary,"  and  is  told  'with  all  the 
power  and  sweetness  which  won  for  Mrs.  Barclay's  earlier 
books  their  place  in  the  front  rank  of  recent  fiction. 

New  York    G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS    London 


11  The  story  is  written  pleasantly  and  carefully 
and  is  the  best  work  of  this  author  that  we  have 
seen/1— The  N,  Y.  Sun. 


Myrtle  Reed's 

fascinating  new  novel 

A  Weaver  of  Dreams 

Myrtle  Reed  now  ranks  with  the  two  or 
three  leaders  of  American  fiction  writers.  Her 
new  book — a  delightful  love  story — shows  the 
same  power  of  characterization,  the  same  charm 
of  fancy,  and  the  same  delicate  sense  of  humor 
which  distinguished  her  earlier  books,  Lavender 
and  Old  Lace,  Old  Rose  and  Silver,  Master  of  the 
Vineyard,  etc. 

With  Frontispiece  in  Color  by  E.  C.  Leaned 

Cloth,  $1,50  net.     Full  Red  Leather,  52.00  net    Antique 

Calf,  $2,50  net     Lavender  Silk,  $330  net 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


By  the  Author  of  "  Down  Our  Street " 

Love  in  a  Little 
Town 

By  J.  E.  Buckrose 

The  story  of  a  girl  who,  having  led  a  sheltered 
life  in  a  luxurious  home,  is  suddenly  thrust  into 
the  Land  of  Reality,  where  there  are  not  only 
hard  experiences  and  the  rough  knocks  that 
discipline  character  but  crowning  joys  and 
triumphs  of  life  as  well.  Love  that  fights  down 
obstacles,  strengthened  by  an  obstinate  faith  in 
the  permanence  of  the  ties  that  mysteriously  link 
two  kindred  souls,  ultimately  triumphs,  as  true 
love  will,  over  all  that  stands  in  the  way  of  its 
attainment,  but  many  a  time  in  the  course  of  the 
story  is  its  strength  of  purpose  put  to  a  severe 
test  by  the  seemingly  insurmountable.  The 
story  is  rich  in  human  quality  and  is  told  with 
sympathy  and  force. 

With  Frontispiece  in  Color  by  John  Cassel 
Cr.  800.     $135  net.     By  mail,  $150 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  London 


000  058  233     8 


